


Hard Time

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Character Bashing, Feminization, Mild BDSM, Violence, Wildly OOC, gratuitous use of sparkly pink butt plugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-11-03
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2001. Violently cracktastic prison AU. Spike's a computer hacker who's just received a ten-year prison sentence.  He's taken under the wing of Angel, who agrees to protect him from the bigger and stronger inmates than himself in exchange for sex.  It's like every prison porn ever made.  Only with more sex. And butt plugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike is sentenced to federal prison for hacking and is immediately rescued from abuse at the hands of the guards and other inmates by a Very Irish Angel.

His face was wet as the judge's gavel slammed down. His face was _really_ wet. Were those tears? He never cried. Except for at his grandfather's funeral, but other than that, he was most certainly _not_ a crier.

Ten years in prison.

By the time he got out, he'd be thirty-five.

He wiped at the wetness that had dared to be on his face, shoulders slumped, and turned to his defense attorney.

Their mouth was moving. What were they saying? He couldn't hear. The jail sentence must've deafened him. What? I'm sorry. Yeah, everyone was sorry.

William Prescott, online alias Spike, the millionaire computer hacker who'd been re-routing a few cents per transaction from a few hundred online stock trading companies into his own Swiss accounts, had been apprehended and brought to justice.

He decided that he'd hang himself with his bed sheets on his first night locked up.

 

Spike didn't like the way the prison guards were looking at him when they led him down the corridor toward the first cells. The one with his hand on his shoulder was big, smelled slightly rank from lack of bathing, and kept letting his hand drift down to his lower back. They reached the barred door at the end of the hall and Riley stopped to remove his handcuffs. Spike felt a large hand on his ass, squeezing and curling in, and he jumped away. The guard laughed.

They stepped through the door and Spike had never been more intimidated in his life.

"Lookit that, boys! Fresh meat!" the first inmate in the cellblock crowed. As one, hundreds of very big men crowded the bars of their cells.

"She's a pretty little piece," another jeered.

A large inmate, cupping his crotch and shaking it at Spike, called, "Come here, honey, and give us a kiss..."

"Hot damn, look at that ass. Hey Finn, give you fifty bucks for an hour with the new punk."

Yeah, Spike was scared. He flinched away from each of the inmates. Once, when he got too close, he found himself roughly being felt up by hands twice the size of his. He stayed in the middle of the corridor after that.

At the end of the row, a dark-haired man set down his newspaper and stood slowly. He didn't catcall as Spike passed, didn't leer or make rude gestures. He did, however, watch appreciatively.

Officer Finn, noticing the inmate's interest, stepped over to his cell. "Same set up as usual?" he asked briefly.

The dark-haired man nodded curtly and returned to his newspaper.

 

They took away his clothes when he removed them in the showers. In their place were a white undershirt, a pair of store-wrapped Hanes boxer shorts, and a blue jumpsuit. Spike sighed heavily and gripped his soap tightly as he turned on the water of one of the showerheads in the middle of the row. There was no way he was going to drop it on his first day of incarceration.

 _Gotta clean their filthy hands off me,_ he thought, scrubbing down every part of his body he could reach without bending over. There was someone behind him. He turned around, back to the wall. Make that three someones. _Gulp_.

"Time to break in the new punk," Officer Finn said, nightstick in hand. He nodded to the two guards flanking him. "Hold him down tight."

"What?" Spike asked, backing against the wall as the guards advanced on him. "No!" He struggled as each of them grabbed one of his arms, dragging his slippery body from the shower. Moments later, he found himself pressed facedown on a table with towels on the other side, legs spread apart. "No!" he shouted again, writhing away from their hands. "Let me go!" And oh fucking shit, now he knew what Finn was going to do with the nightstick. "Please, no!" he begged. "Help!"

"He squeals like a little girl. I like him," Finn commented, rubbing soap all over the nightstick and wetting it. "Think I can make him scream?"

"Help me!" Spike shouted again.

A fourth presence made itself known in the room. "What's going on, boys?"

Spike was panting hard as he turned his head and looked at the new person. He was big, looked strong, and was wearing a white towel around his waist. "Help me..." Spike pleaded, bucking and squirming. His fingernails dug into the tabletop.

"We're just having a little fun with the new guy, Angel," Officer Finn said.

Angel. His name was Angel. Maybe Angel would help him.

"Now, Riley," Angel said. Spike wondered how it was that he was on a first-name basis with his tormentor. He closed his eyes and hoped. "I bet the warden would enjoy firing you for assaulting the new prisoners again." He paused, then gasped in fake shock. "What would your pretty wife say?"

"I'd lose my job," Riley replied, looking aghast. "And fuck - Sam would dump me." This part was well rehearsed. He stepped away from Spike and wiped off his nightstick. "You wouldn't tell them, would you?"

"Leave him alone and you won't find out," Angel said.

"Let him go," Riley said to his fellow guards. He turned to Angel. "Thanks for keeping this between us," he said.

Angel ran a hand through his dark hair and approached Spike. "Hey, you alright?" he asked.

Spike collapsed off the table and curled into a ball against the wall. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "In jail less than an hour and I almost got raped already."

"It'll happen again," Angel said. "And next time, you might not be as lucky. You're a good-looking guy - what's your name?"

"William... Spike," he corrected. His fingers dug through his bleached blond hair to his scalp as his recent assault flashed through his mind again. "Fuck."

"You're a good-looking guy, Spike, but you're a lot smaller than most of the guys on this row. You'll get attacked again and again unless you find a protector soon." He crouched down next to the other man. "Now, I could do that for you. All you'd have to do in return is - "

"Let you bugger me whenever you want," Spike muttered.

"Well, yeah," Angel said, laughing a bit. "But I can guarantee that as long as you live in my cell with me, nobody else in this prison will attack you."

"I kind of expected that I'd wind up someone's prison bitch," Spike said. "Didn't expect that I'd be propositioned so soon." Yeah, he'd be writing a bunch of bullshit in his letters to Buffy, his sweet little fiancée who had sworn that she'd visit and that she'd wait for him. Buffy, who loved him because he was, as she said, 'sweet, sexy, and had a killer accent'. Buffy, who'd never look at him the same way if she knew what was happening to him here.

"You'd have it easy with me, Spike," Angel said. "Unlike most of the other doms in this ward, I was bi before I was sent to prison, and it wasn't forced on me by lack of the opposite sex. I know what being fucked feels like, and I'd be as gentle as I could with you, at least until you started getting used to it. Some of these other guys would fuck you dry until you bled, two or three times a day."

Spike looked up at Angel with a horrified expression on his face. Then he stared at his knees for a moment. "What do I have to do?" he asked, so softly that he barely heard himself.

Fifteen minutes later, as he watched the last of his body hair spiral in the drain before being washed away completely, Spike was beginning to reconsider.

 

Dinner, which was served at six p.m. -- an hour and a half after Spike had first entered the prison -- consisted of grey lumps, brown sauce, and some sort of indefinable juice. Angel strutted into the cafeteria, one hand on Spike's shoulder, and guided him over to the table where other subs from the cellblock sat.

"You're new," three of the other subs said at once.

Spike grunted in reply, sitting down with his tray and poking at the lumps and sauce.

"Hi, I'm Andrew," one sandy-haired prisoner said, offering his hand.

Grunt.

"Oh, sweetie, don't introduce yourself like that. Here, let me try."

Spike raised his head, and an eyebrow at the prisoner diagonally across from him at the table. He wore his hair down past his shoulders in dark waves, delicately applied eye shadow and red lipstick, and his uniform shirt tied up underneath his breasts. Spike blinked.

"Hi, sugar, my name's Jenna," the inmate said in a high, breathy voice, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "Though, once I get out of here, it'll be Jonathan again."

Spike shook Jenna's hand dumbly.

"Forrest - he's my dom - likes his punk to have a little something here and there," Jenna said, hands cupping breasts and jiggling them. "Ooh, that reminds me," the very convincing woman said, reaching into her shirt and pulling out a small bag with pills in it. "Time for my hormones."

The bleached blond was going to have problems remembering that there was a man under all that femininity.

Andrew caught sight of his hairless forearm. "You're Angel's new punk, I take it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Spike said.

"I win," Andrew said to Jonathan. "He talked to me first." He turned back to Spike. "Angel will go easy on you as long as you do what he wants you to and follow his rules," he said.

"Good to know," the bleached blond said, picking at his food.

"You're going to want to eat that," another punk said. "Angel likes his punk healthy. I know it looks like shit, but it tastes - like shit, actually."

Spike shoved a forkful of the lumps and sauce into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. For a second he thought he'd vomit it back up into the plate, but it stayed down and he took another bite. "It's not that bad once you get past the taste," he commented, eating faster. "M'name's Spike, by the way."

"I'm Xander," said the punk who'd made the accurate comment on the food. "And that's Scott next to you. He doesn't talk much. His dom doesn't like it."

Spike glanced at the thin man sitting beside him. Scott smiled shyly and then took a sip of his juice. Spike nodded at him and returned his attention to the food. It tasted like swill, but he was hungry, and that's all they were being fed. He washed down the taste of his food with his juice, only to discover that the juice tasted worse than the lumps and sauce had. He made a face.

"Welcome to prison," Xander said. "Where you get it up the ass more often than you used to fuck your girlfriend, and the food tastes like it's been sitting in the back of the refrigerator for a month. How long are you in for, Spike?"

"Ten years," Spike said with a groan, once again watching his life - that wouldn't happen now - flash before his eyes.

Angel pushed back his chair and stood, taking up his tray. He stopped by the sub table and motioned for Spike to follow him. "Nice meetin' you blokes," Spike said, getting up and tagging behind Angel as they moved to the tray depository belt.

"I'm going to order a tattoo for you," Angel said in a low voice. "And maybe a piercing."

Spike bit his lip. "I'm afraid of needles," he admitted quietly. "But if it'll keep me in your good graces, I'll do it."

"You're a fast learner," Angel said, leading Spike to the doorway. "Good. That'll come in handy later."

Spike scuffed his feet a bit as they moved down the corridor, under the watchful eye of a few guards. He flinched when the catcalls started, but Angel leaned in and said, "Ignore them. They won't touch you," and Spike tried hard to. "You're a virgin, right?" Angel asked.

"No," Spike said. "Well, that is, I've slept with chits before, but..."

"Never taken it up the ass?" the dark-haired man asked as they reached their cell.

"Never," the bleached blond echoed. He took in the cell, with a few sketches taped to one of the walls. A toilet and sink were off in one corner, and two beds - they looked a lot like college dorm cast-offs - with thin mattresses, stood on opposite sides of the room.

"I'll make sure it doesn't hurt too badly," Angel commented. He pushed the left bunk toward the middle of the room, then the right, and opened up a footlocker that had been underneath the left bunk, pulling out a full-sized sheet. He methodically made the bed up so it looked like a double bed, duct taped the edges of the sheet down so they wouldn't rip, and then taped the inside legs of the frames together. "You could start taking your clothes off now," he said, and his tone made Spike realize it wasn't a suggestion.

Spike saw that there was an empty shelf above where the right bunk had stood, so he folded his shirt carefully when he took it off. His boots ended up on the floor under the shelf, and his pants were stacked neatly atop his shirt. He glanced at Angel, who was still attempting to create a comfortable bed out of the two thin twin mattresses. There were two small pillows and a few thin regulation blankets on the double bed now.

Angel looked at Spike. "Well," he said, "I can't very well fuck you if you're still wearing your underwear, can I?"

The blond's hands shook as he turned back to his shelf and pulled off his undershirt. He fingered the waistband of his boxers, then lowered them past his hips and let them fall to the floor, folding them and putting them on his pile. He turned back to Angel slowly, holding his hands in front of his crotch in a last futile attempt at self-consciousness.

Angel chuckled at Spike's modesty and stripped off his own clothing, setting the garments on his own shelf. Spike's eyes were drawn to the large tattoo on his shoulder blade. "Is that a griffon?" Spike asked, focusing on the details of the tattoo.

"Yeah, it is," Angel replied. "I got it when I was twenty-three, the same month that I got sent here."

"What are you in for?" Spike questioned, shifting his eyes away from Angel's shoulder and looking at the drawings on the walls. "... if you don't mind my askin'."

"Aggravated assault," the larger man replied without thought. "Five years ago, I beat a man half to death for sleeping with my girlfriend. I hear he got out of the coma last month."

"Oh." Suddenly, Spike was very, very intimidated by Angel. He shrank down a little, and Angel noticed.

"Hey," Angel said. "I'm not going to hurt you, Spike. I was on some bad shit that night, and I couldn't control myself. As long as you follow the rules that I'll lay down tomorrow morning, you'll be fine." He approached slowly, and Spike backed against the wall. "What's the matter?"

"Hard to feel reassured when you come at me wavin' that thing," Spike said nervously with a glance at Angel's crotch.

Angel walked closer to Spike. "It's just like yours," he said. Then he gave Spike an appraising once-over. "Well, maybe a little bigger, but otherwise..."

Spike couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him and he looked down again, slightly shocked to find himself comparing their cocks. "You're prob'ly right," he conceded. "But I've never 'ad any complaints."

The dark-haired man chortled with laughter. "I believe you," he said. Then he braced his weight on one hand next to Spike's head. "I'm going to touch you," he said. "I'd like it if you would return the favor."

Spike jumped when Angel's fingertips landed on his lower abdomen, trailing downward over the soft, newly hairless skin above his cock. He breathed in sharp little pants through his nose and lifted a shaking hand to Angel's belly, closing his eyes tightly as he touched another man intimately for the first time in his twenty-five years.

"Easy," Angel said. "You wouldn't want to hyperventilate, would you?" His hand moved lower, over Spike's silky thigh. "Deep breaths. Relax..."

The blond sucked in a deep breath and held it as Angel's fingertips ran over his balls. He moved his hand a bit lower. "What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

"Just touch me like you would yourself," the older man said, continuing his gentle exploration of Spike's groin. His hand danced along the blond's flaccid cock and he looked down and watched.

Spike bit his lip hesitantly and traced the ridge on the underside of Angel's semihard shaft with his index finger before encircling his cock with his hand and pulling on it slowly. Soon he could tell that Angel had been right. He _was_ bigger. Despite the way he was touching the larger man now, he still flinched when Angel started stroking his cock.

Too soon for Spike's liking, Angel pulled away. "You give a good hand job, Spike," he said. "But since it's your first night with me, I'd really like to fuck you. Why don't you go ahead and lie down across the bed?"

The younger man was trembling violently as he crossed the room and lay down on his back. The fast panting started again as Angel approached him. He gasped when Angel got close to the bed, but his brow furrowed in confusion when he walked past. He heard a metallic click from somewhere behind him, followed by the rustling of plastic and fabric. All the noises whose sources he couldn't identify weren't helping him breathe easily.

Angel rounded the bed, coming into Spike's line of sight. He was stroking his dick slowly, his eyes roaming over the blond's body as Spike forced himself not to curl into a little ball in a corner of the bed and beg him for... something. Mercy, perhaps? He doubted that he'd receive any tonight. Especially when Angel set down a strip of condoms and a tube of KY Jelly on the mattress. Later, Spike would wonder how someone in a federal prison got hold of things like that.

Spike's inner mantra of _Relax, he won't hurt you, relax, he won't hurt you_ , didn't help a damn bit when Angel climbed onto the bed next to him and touched him again. Strong, callused fingers caressed his shaft and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Tears leaked out from under his tightly closed eyelids as he bit his lip and wished for this to be over soon.

"Hey," Angel said. "It's okay. It's okay, Spike. I know you're scared." He leaned in and whispered confidentially, "I was scared my first time, too." Then his gaze dragged down Spike's body to where his hand was slowly pumping the younger man's hardening cock. "I can either get you off and then fuck you, or just start loosening you up right now," he said. "Your choice."

Spike opened his eyes. "Let's just get it over with," he said.

"Watch out," Angel said. "Too much talk like that and I'll get an overblown ego. Get on your hands and knees, with your head down," he instructed, moving back and jacking his own cock again. When Spike did as he asked, he said, "Good. Now spread your legs a little more... perfect."

"Will it hurt?" Spike whispered as Angel moved back and unscrewed the cap of the KY.

"Only a little bit, if at all," Angel replied. He admired the picture that Spike made in the submissive pose he had struck. "You probably don't want to hear this right now, but you have a very nice ass."

Spike grunted quietly in reply. When was Angel going to do something? All this watching was making him even more nervous than he had been. Then Angel _did_ do something and Spike jerked in surprise. "Cold," he said in explanation as the lubed finger slid down his ass crack and circled his virgin hole.

"It'll warm up," Angel said, adding more of the slick substance to his fingers before sliding them over Spike's skin again. He applied a firm, steady pressure to Spike's tight, pink pucker, eyes narrowed in concentration as the liberally lubed finger slipped past the protective rings of muscle and inside. " _Christalmighty_ , you're tight," he said.

Squirming on the bed in front of Angel, Spike said, "It feels weird."

"Always does, the first time." The dark-haired man removed his finger, added more lubricant, and pushed it back inside, this time slowly thrusting it and angling it in different directions to begin stretching Spike's opening.

Angel's fingers were inside Spike, and Spike was very surprised to notice that it didn't hurt. It felt odd, true, this stretching sensation that he wasn't used to, but there wasn't any pain. He supposed he could thank the amount of lube that Angel was using for that. Or perhaps it was the exceedingly gentle way Angel was moving his fingers in and out. Spike was certain that there were at least two of the bigger man's fingers inside his ass now, pushing and pulling and getting him used to having something inside him.

The older man refrained from commenting on how hungry Spike's ass seemed as he moved his fingers in and out. It was opening right up for him as if it knew and was eager for what was going to happen when it was nice and loose and lubed up. He added a third finger and resumed the slow back and forth sawing motion of his hand. "You're doing great," he murmured.

"Great," Spike echoed, shifting restlessly on his knees. His eyes opened wide when Angel pulled his hand away. Fucking hell, he knew what was coming next as he heard foil and plastic tear and the sound of a condom being rolled onto a hard cock assailed his ears. Then there was another, slicker sound, and he realized that Angel must've been adding some lube to his dick. That was nice of him, at least.

"Hey, calm down," Angel said. "I told you I wasn't going to hurt you, and if you tighten back up too much, I might break my word." The two twin beds made into one larger bed creaked and shifted as Angel positioned himself behind Spike and gripped the base of his cock with his right hand. His other hand landed on Spike's left hip, holding him steady as he placed the head of his dick at the blond's entrance and pushed forward.

Spike concentrated on staying relaxed as his body tried to reject Angel's invasion of his ass. And it did hurt a little bit, but he noticed the half-empty tube of lubricant next to him and felt how smoothly Angel was pushing forward into him, with both hands on his hips now, thumbs digging into his hairless ass cheeks, and his heart was pounding in his ears from fright and his overwhelming nervousness and... the other inmates were coming back from the cafeteria.

"Ignore them," Angel said right before the first jeers began.

"Would you look at that! Angel's got the new punk again. How's he feel, Killarney?"

In response, Angel pushed his cock deeper inside Spike's and pulled slowly back again.

"Bet that's a nice tight boypussy there."

"I'll pay you extra this month if you lend your boy to me, Angel. Make him feel what a real man is like."

"Look at him. He loves it. You got yourself a nice little slut this time, Angel-o."

"Hey Irish, make him squeal nice and loud tonight."

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body shaking. His mantra had evaporated the minute he'd felt their leering eyes on him and he was breathing like a man who'd just run twenty miles without stopping. Angel either didn't notice that he was coiling up like a python, or didn't care.

_Rule Number One: When Angel wants to get off, he will get off, no matter what the emotional state of his bedmate is._

Angel's grip on Spike's hips tightened as he started to thrust slowly, with long, deep strokes. His expression set on a concentrated look, he focused on bringing himself off. He'd worry about Spike later. He was satisfied that he'd used enough lube when his cock threatened to slide all the way out on a few separate occasions. His thrusts sped up.

Spike gripped the sheets and held on as his body was jarred forward again and again with Angel's strong thrusts. His face flamed as the wet sounds of Angel's dick sliding in and out of him echoed through the cellblock and Angel's grunts surrounded him. Angel pressed down on his shoulders and he dipped his back more to accommodate the nearly completely bent over posture that he had now.

His eyes sprang open and he let out a surprised little noise as the cock inside him brushed over something that sent a shock of unexpected pleasure shooting up his spine. He figured it for a fluke when it didn't happen again, and promptly felt disgusted with himself for enjoying even the smallest second of getting fucked up the ass.

Then the memory of Officer Finn advancing on him with his nightstick, while he was held down firmly on that table in the showers assailed him, and he tensed. Angel didn't notice, however, because he was panting in Spike's ear as he came and flooding the condom with his jizz.

Angel gripped the condom at the base and pulled back slowly, leaving the wet, hot haven of Spike's ass. When the head of his cock worked its way back past the blond's tight sphincter, he rolled to his feet and moved to the toilet, unrolling the condom, swabbing himself clean, and flushing the used piece of latex. Then he returned to the bed. He examined Spike's ass. "Good," he said. "I didn't tear you."

Spike remained in the position he'd assumed while Angel was fucking him, and he tensed when the bigger man let out a chuckle.

"You can relax now, you know. Lie down."

The blond collapsed onto his side. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he felt like weeping. He curled up into a ball, drawing his knees up, but not before Angel noticed his soft cock and the absence of a wet spot beneath him.

"You didn't cum," Angel said. Spike cringed when he heard the disappointment in the other man's voice. "Here, I'll take care of it." Angel reached between Spike's legs and cupped his balls.

"You don't have to," Spike protested. "I'm fine, really."

"I insist." Angel's tone brooked no arguments. "I don't want you to be so tense while I'm trying to sleep." He fondled Spike's cock and balls gently, and his touch was so careful and expert that Spike could feel himself getting hard.

Again, Spike saw Officer Finn and his nightstick in his mind's eye, and he decided that getting felt up by a fairly good-looking guy was a much better deal, despite the fact that he was positive that he was straight. And the fact that Angel was nice enough to get him off after he'd fucked him...

_Rule Number Two: When Angel wants to get you off, you will let him, no matter whether or not you're straight._

Spike decided that he'd relax and enjoy Angel's hand job. At least the catcalls had stopped, and he was fairly sure, as the lights dimmed in the cellblock, signaling bedtime, that nobody was watching. He closed his eyes and thought of Buffy. Those thoughts didn't work out, though, because Thought!Buffy was sneering at him and calling him a pillow-biting fag. Not really a turn-on. He decided to become hypnotized by the motion of Angel's hand on his dick instead.

Up and down, up and down went Angel's patient hand. Soon Spike's hips were making the same motion, and his cock was thrusting in and out of the other man's fist. Up and down. In and out. Spike made a little, strangled noise as he came, and was too relaxed to curl up into a fetal position again when Angel pulled his hand away. He lay there motionless as Angel sopped up the semen that had landed on his chest and abs.

"Welcome to prison," Angel said, turning Spike onto his side and placing his head on a pillow. He thought of all the things he was going to teach the blond, how he'd turn him into the perfect bottom bitch, and his cock grew hard again. Methodically, he rolled on another condom, added more lube, tossed everything besides Spike, the pillows, and the bedding off the mattresses, and slipped his cock back into the younger man's ass, spooning against him. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Then Angel was asleep, and Spike stared off into the dim cellblock unseeingly. He had to do some major thinking about his life, starting with how he'd gotten caught and ending with how he'd managed to drift off to sleep with another man's dick inside his ass.


	2. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike learns Angel's ground rules. And how to give a blowjob.

 

Spike would decide later that there was something Not Right about being pulled from sleep slowly when Angel's semi-hard cock slipped out of him. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, mumbling incoherently. "Buffy, go 'way an' let me sleep. Don't 'ave to work today," he muttered.  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow and continued cleaning up. He used the toilet and brushed his teeth, then pulled on his boxers and walked over to the bed. "Hey, Spike," he said, grasping one of the younger man's shoulders and shaking him lightly. "Wake up," he said.  
  
"Don' wanna," Spike said, rolling over onto his back. Then he opened his eyes, saw Angel, and sat up with a jolt. "Bloody hell," he gasped. "Thought I was at home for a minute there." He shifted uncomfortably as his ass protested his sitting.  
  
"Are you sore?" Angel asked, combing his hair and applying a bit of styling gel.  
  
Spike gingerly lifted his ass off the mattress. "A bit," he said. It only hurt when he moved. "Not enough to worry."  
  
"Go ahead and take your morning dump, or whatever it is you have to do," Angel said. He picked up the newspaper, which had been set just inside the bars of the cell, and flipped through the pages.  
  
The blond got up and tottered across the cell to the toilet, his body fighting every step. He growled quietly as his back decided to remind him of the position he'd been in the night before. His ass twitched. Yeah, he knew that he'd been fucked last night. His aching... everything...  _really_  didn't have to announce that fact every time he moved.  
  
After a minute at the toilet, Spike turned back to Angel and moved to put on his clothes. "You don't need those yet," Angel said. "Come over here."  
  
Spike wondered if he was going to be fucked again before breakfast. From the sound of it, a few of the other subs in the ward were. He approached Angel warily.  
  
"When I tell you to come over here," Angel said patiently, "I expect you to do it immediately." Spike skidded to a halt in front of him. "Get down on your knees," he said.  
  
Oh, joy and rapture, Spike was going to learn how to suck a guy off. He knelt and looked up at Angel expectantly. The floor was cold and hard, and it made his knees hurt.  
  
"I want you to take my cock out of my boxers and pull on it," the dark-haired man instructed. He was still reading his paper.  
  
Spike parted the slit in the front of Angel's boxers, surprised that his hand wasn't shaking when he pulled the older man's flaccid member out. He wrapped his hand around the soft organ and stroked it slowly, chewing on his lower lip. His gaze darted from the stiffening cock in his hand to Angel's face, looking for some sign that he was doing it right.  
  
Angel turned the page of his newspaper, engaged in an article about the oil trade. "Tighten your hand just a little bit," he said, sighing when Spike's fingers tensed a bit around his shaft. "That's good," he said. "Keep going."  
  
Spike swiped his thumb across the head of Angel's nearly hard cock on the next upstroke, in a way that he'd always liked himself. Angel jumped in surprise. "Go ahead and follow your instincts," he said, setting the paper aside.   
  
The blond twisted his fist as he pumped Angel's cock. His thumb flicked across the head, now it was rubbing the older man's glans slowly, now it traced Angel's cum tube, and then it was circling the head again. Up and down, Spike's hand went, squeezing as it rose and relaxing as it fell.  
  
Soon Angel's cock was hard and throbbing in Spike's hand. "Alright," he said, and Spike slowed his hand's movements. "Now just lean in and kiss the tip," he directed, placing a hand on Spike's head and guiding him down.  
  
Prison was just _full_ of new experiences for Spike. He decided that he'd be the best-behaved inmate that this jail had ever seen, and get off on good behavior before blowing and being fucked by Angel became routine. His eyes were wide open as the head of Angel's cock nudged his closed lips. He opened his mouth just a bit and fastened his lips over the gaping slit in Angel's head, adding the same amount of suction that he would if he were actually kissing the older man.  
  
"Good. A little tongue, now." Angel shifted back, propping himself up with one hand braced behind him on the bed. His fingers tangled in Spike's hair and he watched as his little innocent took more of his cockhead into his mouth.  
  
Spike smiled to himself when his tongue flicked tentatively across Angel's head and the older man bit back a groan. He liked it. That meant that Spike was safe for another day with Angel, and that he would be under his protection. Unless of course he fucked up.  
  
... which was what he did next.  
  
"No teeth," Angel hissed as Spike's lower incisors scraped lightly, accidentally, over his head.  
  
Spike lifted his mouth off. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"I didn't tell you to stop." Spike flinched and Angel sighed. "Just... cover your teeth with your lips. Like this, see?" The dark-haired man demonstrated, his speech distorted from the position of his lips.  
  
The blond curled his own lips over his teeth, and the older man nodded. Spike lowered his head again. Before yesterday, he'd thought sucking another man off was disgusting. It was funny how prison changed his perspectives. Stay with Angel, stay safe. Do what Angel wants. Easy enough, right?  
  
Closing his eyes finally, Spike unlocked the memories of every great blowjob he'd ever had. He remembered that the majority of them had started out with light sucking on the head while a hand moved up and down the shaft. Light sucking. He could do that. He wrapped his mouth fully around the thick, hard knob of flesh at the end of Angel's shaft and sucked slowly, carefully. This time, Angel didn't bother concealing his moan.  
  
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd done this before," the larger man said, threading his fingers into Spike's hair.  
  
"Mm-hmmph," Spike said around Angel's cock, shaking his head slightly. He ventured into his memories again and decided that the next thing to do would be to lick while he sucked. That required a bit more coordination of his mouth, but he'd licked and sucked nipples before. It was the same type of deal, right? Suck. Lick.  
  
Eugh. Nipples didn't leak precum.  
  
If he pulled back and made a face, there was no telling what Angel would do to him. He licked again with a little grimace.  
  
The best blowjob Spike had ever received was from Amy Brown, under the bleachers in his high school gym. She'd had soft, dark hair and she'd stared up at him with bright blue eyes as she'd licked him like a popsicle. His low groan of pleasure, when she'd taken him into her mouth and sucked down the length of his shaft, had been drowned out by the sound of the spectators at whatever sporting event they'd been attending. He remembered the warm, liquid heat of her mouth and her fluttering tongue, remembered the way she'd rolled his balls between her fingers. Now, Spike utilized Amy Brown's technique on Angel's cock.  
  
Angel moaned and his fingers tensed in Spike's hair. "Yeah, that's it..." he urged. "You're a natural. Keep going..."  
  
Spike was inclined to think that having natural talent at sucking dick wasn't a good thing. He was straight, dammit. That one time in college where he'd woken up hung over and naked in a male friend's bed, limbs entangled with the other guy's, meant nothing. Neither did the fact that he was currently sporting wood.  
  
Lick. This time the slippery fluid that dribbled out onto Spike's tongue didn't taste so bad. It was a foreign flavor, bittersweet and salty all at once, but the food they'd been served last night had tasted worse. He accompanied the next lick with a slow head bob, down Angel's shaft, then sucked back up. Down, rolling his tongue along the underside of the cock in his mouth, and up.  
  
"Oh, yeah, that's good..." Angel grunted.  
  
With every lick and suck, Spike felt himself becoming safer and safer from the other inmates and the guards. If this was the price of his wellbeing... well, there were worse things he could do to keep himself in one piece. His head moved faster and his hands rested on Angel's cotton-covered upper thighs as he shifted closer, between the older man's spread legs, so he wouldn't have to crane his neck as his head bobbed. When his own cock throbbed needfully, Spike paused for a moment and frowned around his mouthful of dick, then sighed through his nose and went to work again.  
  
Soon came the big question: spit or swallow? He could tell that Angel was close by the way the raspy quality of the bigger man's breath. He was making those same grunting noises he'd made the previous night, right before he'd come. If he spat, Angel would probably take offense, but he didn't know if the other man was STD-free or not. If he swallowed... Then Angel made up his mind for him, holding his head down with a gentle hand as he thrust up once and flooded Spike's mouth with his semen.  
  
Now the big question had transformed into: swallow or choke? Spike chose to swallow. He kept sucking dutifully at Angel's softening cock until the older man tugged him up by his hair - not hurting, just enough to get him to lift off. He sat back on his haunches, his own cock twitching in time with his pulse, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips were tingling and red from being stretched around Angel's shaft.  
  
"That was very good, Spike," Angel said. "I'm surprised it was your first time." He tucked himself back into his boxers. "Stand up," he said, then added as an afterthought, "The floor's probably pretty uncomfortable."  
  
Spike got to his feet, his knees creaking. "Was it really...?" He trailed off, then mentally berated himself. Why would he want to know how good he was at giving blowjobs?  
  
"It was," Angel said. "Looks like you enjoyed it, too." His eyes were on Spike's hard, leaking cock. Spike shifted in embarrassment. Angel stood. "Lie down on your back and lift your legs," he said. He moved to his footlocker and pulled out a few objects, setting them on the edge of the bed as Spike assumed the position he'd instructed him to.  
  
 _Rule Number Three: You will learn to like getting Angel off, enough so that you get off with him._  
  
Spike looked around the room, feeling entirely too vulnerable with his ass completely exposed. He rubbed his thumbs over his thighs. If he hadn't known he was touching his own legs, he'd have sworn the skin beneath his hands belonged to a woman. His eyes fell on Angel again as the bigger man approached. His hands were covered in a clear gel. He couldn't possibly want to lube him up and fuck him again, could he? He'd just come a minute ago...  
  
The answer came when Angel slathered the lube from his left palm all over Spike's tight ass pucker. Great. Angel wanted a fuck. Then the dark-haired man wrapped a lubed hand around Spike's throbbing cock, rubbing his foreskin over the sensitive flesh of his dick head, and Spike forgot to be upset about the prospect of taking it up the ass again. Holy Jesus, Angel's hand wasn't supposed to feel as good as it did. Spike arched up and pressed his head back against the bed with a moan. He didn't even care that by now quite a few of the inmates were moving about their cells, getting ready to head over to the mess hall for breakfast. All that mattered was that he was getting an amazing hand job.  
  
Angel thrust a finger inside Spike's tight ass. There was less resistance than there had been yesterday, sleeping with his cock inside him had seen to that, but he was still clenching and felt nearly virginal. He watched Spike arching and writhing on the bed, morals and standards and straightness forgotten, and he smiled. His hand tightened and he began to jack Spike off faster.  
  
Spike's hands scrabbled against the mattress, trying to find purchase. It didn't matter that Angel was pressing a foreign object inside his ass at that moment, or that it was a man who was bringing him off, because he was - "Oh, fuck! Cumming!" he gasped, thrusting up into Angel's grip as volleys of pearlescent white fluid spurted onto his chest and belly.  
  
By the time Spike had come down, Angel had cleaned him off with a few pieces of toilet paper. He wiped his hands on a corner of the sheet and put the lube away. "Sit up," he said, and Spike did.  
  
The blond gasped as whatever Angel had put inside him shifted and pressed in further. White-hot pleasure danced up his spine when the object moved.   
  
"Are you alright? It doesn't hurt, does it?" Angel asked.  
  
Spike shook his head and closed his eyes, panting. "Christ," he rasped. "What did you put up there?"  
  
"It's a plug," Angel replied. "Wear it for the next two weeks and it'll loosen your ass up a bit, so I won't have to work quite so hard to fuck you." He pulled on his undershirt and pants. "Now, there's the matter of an STD test. I'm clean. When was the last time you had sex before you got here?"  
  
"The night before I was sentenced," Spike replied. And there was Thought!Buffy again, with her cold eyes and her disgusted words. Dammit, he'd just erupted like Old Faithful from Angel's hand job, but that didn't make him gay. Or even bi. He shook his head. "She doesn't 'ave anything."  
  
"Good. So you're clean, too?" Angel was putting on his shirt now. Spike couldn't seem to find the energy to stand up and get his own clothes. Stupid hand job.  
  
"Yeah," Spike said. He shifted a bit, and there was that jolt of pleasure again. The butt plug was rubbing up against something inside him. So it hadn't been a fluke last night when Angel had been fucking him. Huh.  
  
"Good. I might fuck you bareback sometime." Angel fixed his hair again. "Usually I'll use a condom, because there's less mess." He looked at Spike when the younger man whimpered and shifted again. "You should probably get up and put your clothes on. Breakfast is in ten minutes."  
  
Spike stood and took a few tentative steps. The plug shifted and rubbed with each stride. If it kept rubbing against that spot, he wasn't going to make it to the cafeteria. He made it to his shelf and leaned up, grabbing his clothes. The undershirt was easy, as was the regulation button-down. The boxers and pants on the other hand, were a trial.  
  
When he got the rest of his clothes on, mocking the butt plug the entire time [ _Ha! Didn't cum!_ ], he toed into his boots and buckled them up, then straightened and turned to Angel. "Breakfast?" he asked.  
  
Angel nodded and stood, stretching as he approached the door of the cell. "Hey, Finn," he called. "You planning on letting us eat sometime today?"  
  
"Hold your horses, Irish," Riley replied, coming into view. "They're not quite ready in the mess hall." The guard walked back around the corner.  
  
The dark-haired man walked back to the bed, straightened the sheets and blankets, then flopped down and picked up his newspaper again. "Have a seat," he said, thumbing through the pages.  
  
Spike sat.  
  
He registered the low buzzing noise before the first throbbing vibrations hit his prostate. In the next instant, he jumped off the bed, panting and squirming as if to get away from the plug that was now vibrating cheerily in his ass. His eyes widened as his movement further jostled the intrusive object. His cock was tenting his pants now, straining against the fabric as the vibrations aroused him to a nearly unbearable degree. He was panting, his breath rasping in and out of his lungs quickly, his hips thrusting upward and his fingers dug into his thighs. His body got hotter and hotter, eyes clenched shut and mouth open, and -   
  
He heard a tiny click, and the vibrations stopped.  
  
Spike whimpered.  
  
Angel looked up from his paper. "Something wrong?" he asked, slipping the remote control for the butt plug into his pocket. "You look a little flushed."  
  
Spike coughed and looked out into the cellblock. "No," he replied, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. "No. I'm alright."  
  
The cell doors opened a moment later and several armed guards entered the block, watching the inmates as they filed out of their cells and walked toward the cafeteria. Jenna flounced by wearing kitten heels, a white baby tee, and a black miniskirt that just barely covered her ass. Spike wondered how she'd gotten out of having to wear the regulation uniform. Then he shrugged and followed Angel out of the cell.   
  
Breakfast tasted only slightly better than dinner the previous evening had. The oatmeal was congealed and lumpy, and the coffee tasted like the grinds had been recycled a few times. Still, Spike knew better than to skip his meal. He shoveled the food into his mouth, hoping that it wouldn't taste quite so bad if he ate it quickly. Then he took a sip of his coffee and barely refrained from wiping out his mouth with his napkin.  
  
Across the table, Andrew and Jenna were debating something about Star Trek.  
  
"No it's not, you penis!" Andrew exclaimed, glaring at Jenna.  
  
Spike looked at Jenna, then back at Andrew, raised an eyebrow, and ate another bite of his oatmeal.  
  
"So, Spike," Xander drawled.  
  
The blond turned to look at the man sitting next to him. "Yeah?" he asked.  
  
"What's it like being Angel's butt-monkey, buddy?" the other man queried, accompanying the question with a hearty slap to Spike's shoulder.  
  
Spike blinked.  
  
"No, really, he wants to know," Andrew chimed in. "See, Xander's got this thing for Angel, but he doesn't usually talk about it, because Robin would - mmph."  
  
"He doesn't know what he's talking about, do you, Andrew?" Xander asked, keeping his hand firmly clasped across the other man's mouth.  
  
Andrew rolled his eyes and shook his head, sticking his tongue out at Xander when the brunette sat back down and picked at his food. Spike scooped out the scrapings from his oatmeal bowl and prepared to eat them. The spoon made it halfway to his mouth before the vibrations started again. Spike squeaked in surprise, jumped slightly, and dropped the utensil, then whirled around in his seat to look at Angel.  
  
The dark-haired man was talking with one of the other inmates and fingering something in his pants pocket. It looked like a remote control of some sort. Spike narrowed his eyes and turned back around. He would  _not_  cum in the cafeteria. He refused to even get hard. He was in control of his body. He was strong. He wasn't becoming so turned on he could barely think straight. No sir, the vibrating butt plug that was pressed directly against his prostate had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever.  
  
He was going to go insane if he didn't shoot off soon.  
  
He wasn't going to cum in his pants like a fifteen-year-old schoolboy, though. He was going to regain his senses any second now. He wasn't turned on. Nope. Not at all. No. No. No... no... nghohgod yes yes yesyes _yes_! His fingers gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white and he flung back his head in ecstasy as he covered the inside of his underwear in cum for the first time in over a decade.  
  
He slumped forward slightly in his seat and panted, still trembling with aftershocks. The vibrations ceased and he could've sworn he heard Angel chuckle. Someone was talking to him. Xander.  
  
"You alright buddy?" Xander asked.  
  
"Erm, yeah," Spike said weakly. "Bad coffee."

 

"So, Spike. Why are you in the wrong prison?" Angel asked, glancing up from the sports section of his paper and looking at the blond, who was cleaning his boxers in the sink.  
  
"The others were overcrowded," Spike said. He rubbed his bar of soap over the slightly discolored stain on the white cotton, then scrubbed them vigorously. "It was either here, or out of state." Scrub scrub scrub. Why was Angel looking at him, anyway? He looked down. Oh. Must've been his lack of pants. He wrung his boxers out and draped them over the side of the sink to dry, then moved to put his pants back on. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd gone commando.  
  
"Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to wear those pants without something underneath them," Angel said. He opened up his footlocker and pulled out - oh, there was no  _way_  Spike was going to wear  _that_. "Wear this for awhile. Don't worry, it's cut for men. It'll fit."  
  
Yes, master. Trying to conceal his look of disgust, Spike took the black satin men's thong from the older man and pulled it on.  
  
Angel watched as Spike slipped a hand into the front of the thong and arranged his dick and balls so he was comfortable, then looked at the boxers draped on the sink as if to will them dry. He smiled appreciatively as he looked Spike over. "Take your shirt off," he said. "I want to draw you."  
  
Spike's shirt hit the floor softly, followed by his undershirt. "Where should I..."  
  
"On the bed," Angel said. "Just lie down and get comfortable." He picked up his newspaper and folded it, then set it on the floor and rumpled the blankets.   
  
Spike wasn't sure what to make of this Angel who currently didn't particularly want to use him for his pleasure. He lay down on the thin mattresses, one knee bent, legs spread slightly, and stared up at the ceiling with a hand on his belly. Angel was going through his footlocker again, probably pulling out pencils and a sketchpad.  
  
The dark-haired man leaned up against the wall with his pencil and paper, and began to draw. His pencil scraped lightly over the textured pad, creating the first rough rendition of Spike's form. He frowned, shook his head, turned to a new page, and flipped the switch on the remote control he still carried in his pocket.  
  
Spike jolted and relaxed as the first gentle pulses thrummed through him. Alright, already. Angel had proven that he could cum from having something in his ass. Wasn't once enough, though? If he came all over the thong, he'd be forced to go about naked until lunch - he shuddered at the very idea of parading his ass around for a cellblock of horny inmates to view - or wear the scratchy pants, commando.  
  
Angel saw that Spike was fighting the effects that the butt plug were having on him. He took his pencil between his teeth, reached into his pocket, and turned the dial on the remote, increasing the speed of the pulses.  
  
The blond immediately tensed on the bed, balling the blankets in his fists. He looked at Angel. "Please, I can't take anymore..." he gasped, his whole body arching as a strong wave of vibrations thrummed through him.  
  
"You can," Angel countered. "Ride it out and touch yourself the way you want to." His pencil flew over the page as Spike faced the ceiling once again, writhing on the bed as the fight went out of him.  
  
The younger man slowly unclenched his hands and licked his lips, closing his eyes as he forced himself to relax. He raised his hands to his chest, starting with light touches that he barely felt as his dick pushed insistently against the thin fabric of the satin thong. His fingertips trailed across skin that had once been sparsely covered in hair, bumping over his hardened nipples and sliding along his ribcage.  
  
Spike ran a hand down his chest and belly, pushing down the waistband of the thong and rubbing the once again throbbing head of his cock. He gritted his teeth as the plug began to pulse rhythmically in his ass and he thrusted into the air, pinching his nipples and running a hand up and down his inner thigh, from groin to knee and back. "Fuck..." he hissed. "Yeah..."  
  
"Jesus..." Angel muttered, entranced by the blond's undulating body and low groans of pure pleasure. He continued to draw.  
  
The man on the bed bit his lip, clenching his eyes shut as he thrust toward the sensations in his ass. Heterosexuality be damned, he was going to cum from the thrumming of a vibrating butt plug shoved up inside him, and he was going to _like_ it. The sex toy was unyielding in its involvement in the enjoyment factor, anyway. And the satin of the thong felt incredible against his hairless skin, soft and smooth. He rubbed his shaft through the fabric, his cockhead poking out the top.  
  
"Oh, bloody - unh!" Spike cried, his whole body heaving as the onset of climax sent him into light convulsions. "Yeah!" He fondled his balls through the thong and arched up one final time, cumming all over himself. He felt the vibrations diminish, then cease altogether.   
  
He barely heard the sound of a pad and pencil hitting the floor, or the sound of frantic clawing through the lockbox for a condom and lube, and the rasp of a zipper. But when Angel pushed the thong out of the way, pulled the plug out of his ass, spread his legs wide, and thrust in, they both groaned.  
  
Spike grunted each time Angel's cock pushed into him, his torso bouncing on the bed as the older man set a hard, fast pace. It was all Spike could do to hold onto the bedding and hope they didn't break the bed.  
  
"Do you have any idea how hot it was - ah, fuck! - to watch you while I was drawing?" Angel asked, bracing his weight on his hands and jackhammering into the blond. "I just had. To. Fuck. You."  
  
Spike grunted in reply, because that was the only noise he could make at the moment.  
  
"Fuck, you're still so fucking tight," the dark-haired man rasped, grinding against Spike and rotating his hips. "I'm not gonna last for shit. Work my nipples," he groaned.  
  
Spike reached up, mindlessly languid from his recent climax, and twisted first one, and then the other nipple. He flicked his thumbs over the tiny bits of flesh, then rubbed, then twisted again.  
  
"Yeah, just like that. Fuck!" Angel pounded into Spike hard, flying toward climax. "Again." When Spike's fingers twisted both his nipples at once, Angelus slammed inside one last time and stiffened, groaning and spasming. His cock pulsed inside the younger man as it released his cum into the condom. He slumped forward, breathing hard against Spike's neck for a minute, then pulled back and out and got rid of the used condom.  
  
Spike thought for a moment that he'd get a few minutes' reprieve from the torturous butt plug, but then Angel returned to the bed, lifted his leg, and corkscrewed the plastic toy back inside, then positioned the thong so that he was fairly decently covered by it. He felt the mattresses shift and heard the frames creak as Angel dropped onto the bed and tucked himself back into his pants.  
  
"Fuck," Angel muttered. "That was  _good_..."  
  
For a brief moment, Spike considered being proud of himself. He was  _good_. His hand rested on his belly once more, getting sticky with his cum. He really wanted to clean that up, but found that his body didn't feel like moving. Angel's body, on the other hand, did.   
  
The older man rolled off the bed, got some toilet tissue, and cleaned Spike off, even wiping his hand clean before replacing it on his belly. Then he tossed the soiled paper in the wastebasket and picked up his sketchbook and paper from the floor. "Have you ever seen what unrestrained passion looks like?" he asked, studying the completed drawing. He penciled in the date on the bottom right corner.  _10-27_.  
  
Spike mumbled in reply, too out of it to give a real answer.  
  
The dark-haired man turned all of his attention to his artwork. On the page, Spike appeared as a debauched angel, body arched and face contorted in pleasure as mindless, animal lust overtook him. The blankets were a tangle of fabric around his frame, dark against light.  
  
Angel closed the sketchbook.


	3. You Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things start to get oddly domestic and Spike receives an education.

Spike sat down on the bed, casting an uneasy glance at Angel. He kept all his muscles tensed in anticipation of the plug whirring to life again, shimmying and bumping along his insides. "Could I read the funny pages?" he asked. "That is, if you're through with them?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Angel said, offering the paper to the blond. He returned to his article on the search for the cure for AIDS, shifting on the bed.

Spike flopped onto his back, turned to the comics page, folded it back, and played with the hem of his shirt as he read the section he hadn't really wanted. He'd figured that it was the only part of the paper Angel would've given him, though, so he hadn't bothered asking for anything else. He really wanted to know how his stock portfolio [a large percentage of which he'd amassed before he'd started the online theft] was doing. He bent his knees and planted his sock-clad feet firmly on the bed, tapping his toes as he read.

Angel glanced over at Spike, then back at the article. After a moment, he decided that the ever-changing expressions on the blond's face were more interesting than his newspaper. He shook his head and read some more.

"I was wonderin'..." Spike said after a few minutes, setting the comics aside. "Do you - that is, if you don't mind me askin', do - "

"Ooh, yeah, fuck me!"

Spike blinked and looked at the wall toward the cell next door, where a bed thudded against the cinderblocks rhythmically. Low groans and breathy little gasps assailed Spike's ears.

"Oh, that's Forrest and Jenna. You get used to it after awhile," Angel said.

"I've been a bad girl. Spank me, Daddy!"

The blond raised an eyebrow as he heard a masculine grunt and the sound of a palm smacking against flesh.

"Daddy's gonna punish his little girl." Spike figured that was Forrest.

"Ooh, Daddy, make me sorry. Fuck me with your big cock. Yeah, oooh!"

"So, they do this often?" Spike asked Angel.

"Your hands on my titties feel so good! Unh, Daddy! Yes!"

"Every day at this time," Angel replied.

"Mmm, fuck meeeh! Fuck your baby's pussy!"

"Pussy?" Spike repeated. He couldn't help it. He started to laugh. Soon he was clutching his sides, snorting with laughter as the pair next door kept up their pornographic dialogue.

Angel couldn't hold back his own laughter from watching the man on the bed. Spike snickered and pounded his fists against the bed. "Don't hurt yourself," Angel laughed as Spike rolled close to the edge of the mattress.

"What would you do," Spike laughed, "if I asked you to - " he broke off on a giggle. "Spank me, put your hands on my titties, and fuck my pussy?" He roared with laughter.

The dark haired man rolled atop Spike, pinning him to the bed with his body. He hovered above the blond, hands braced on either side of Spike's shoulders. "I'd probably tear off your clothes and fuck you through the mattress," he purred.

Spike sobered instantly, staring up at Angel, his face flushed and his lips parted, his chest heaving from laughter. " _Oh_ ," Spike said.

"Yeah," Angel said.

"Ooh, I'm a bad girl! Fuck me, fuck me! Pound your cock in my tight little pussy, Daddy!" Jenna said.

The corners of Spike's mouth twitched, and soon he was guffawing again. Angel looked down at him for a moment, then sighed, the mood broken, and moved to the other side of the bed again. A guard headed down the corridor, keys jangling, just as Jenna squealed in pleasure and Forrest grunted loudly in his climax.

Angel watched Spike laughing, neck arched, lips parted, white teeth glistening, and he acted rashly. One instant he was lying on his side gazing at the other man. The next, he was sprawled atop him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him silly. His tongue delved deeply into Spike's mouth, thrusting and tasting and caressing, and he smiled against the younger man's lips when Spike responded to the kiss.

Then Spike was speaking, and Angel blinked a few times. He wasn't lying atop Spike, kissing the breath out of him. Hell, he wasn't even touching the younger man. Spike was standing by the open cell door. "You alright, mate?" he asked. "Seemed you were someplace else for a minute. Though, now that I think about it, most places would be better to be than 'ere."

"What?" Angel asked. He shook his head a few times to clear it. "I was just... thinking. We still haven't talked. If you meet me in the yard at the far corner, away from the building after lunch..."

"Yeah," Spike said. He headed through the door. "I'll do that." As he walked toward the cafeteria, his voice carried to Angel, who was just standing up. "Wonder what kind of swill we're gettin' this time?"

 

Angel was already in the corner of the yard he'd indicated when Spike emerged from the prison building. Spike trudged slowly over, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one with a book of matches. He took a long drag - _ah, sweet nicotine_ \- and continued in the older man's direction.

"You wanted to talk?" Spike asked, exhaling lazily and flicking ashes to the ground. Hmm. Downwind. He moved to Angel's other side.

"You smoke," Angel said, glancing at Spike's face and then at the cigarette that dangled between his fingers. "I wish you wouldn't."

"This one of the rules?" Spike asked. He took another drag.

"No," Angel said, "but I still wish you wouldn't. It's..." he frowned. "The smell lingers, you know."

"Hmm..." Spike murmured on an exhale. He watched as ten inmates played a game of basketball on the other side of the yard. "This what it's like every day?" he asked.

"Pretty much," Angel replied. "I usually bring out something to read. But I've got some things I need to tell you today, so..."

"Right then," Spike said. He twirled the filter of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. "You've got my attention."

The dark-haired man raised a long index finger. "Keep your dick to yourself," he said. "Not all of the guys doing time here are clean, and I don't particularly want to catch someone else's STD through you."

Spike nodded. He tapped the fingertips of his right hand against his thigh and took another drag.

A second finger sprang up to join the first. "I don't want a slave. Try to relax and be yourself - but not because I told you to do it." Three fingers in the air. "At some point I might start telling you about myself. I expect you to keep the things I say to yourself, in respect for my privacy."

Another curt nod from Spike. "Anythin' else?" he asked.

"I've already told you about the plug and the body hair - you understand, if we weren't in this situation, I couldn't care either way, but I have to mark my territory somehow - and you'll have a small tattoo..." He looked Spike over. "I think it'll go on your lower back. And there's the matter of the piercing, but I'll take care of that."

"An' when I get let out?" Spike questioned. He tossed the stub of a cigarette down and ground it out with the toe of his boot.

"Prison tattoos are easily removeable, and if you take the piercing out it'll heal over completely in a matter of a few weeks," Angel said. "You won't have to retain a single physical reminder of prison life, if that's what you want." He looked at the still-smoldering, half-flattened cigarette butt on the ground and rotated his heel on it. "This afternoon," he said, "I'm going to teach you how to make the most of me fucking you. I know you're straight, but it's the only action available around here."

 

"We'll start out easy," Angel said as he folded his shirt and set it on his shelf. "First thing you need to learn is how to lube yourself up."

Spike raised an eyebrow. That required putting his fingers someplace that he'd never put them before. And feeling around. He made a little face as he stripped off the thong and lay crossways on the bed so that the inmates across the way couldn't see every movement he made. "Now, I'm guessin' that the plastic pain in my ass is gonna 'ave to come out first," he said.

"Good guess," Angel said. He pulled a box of condoms and a bottle of lube out of his foot locker and set both items on the bed.

"How is it that you have a neverendin' supply of lube an' condoms at your disposal?" Spike asked as he lifted his legs and carefully pulled the plug from his rectum. He managed to get away with only a small grimace as it pulled on the inner walls of his ass.

Angel set his pants aside. "I've got quite a few connections in here," he said. He picked up one of the pillows from the head of the bed and draped a white towel over it, then moved toward Spike with it. "Lift up," he said.

Spike raised his hips, feeling Angel slide the pillow underneath his ass. He sighed and squirmed, trying to get comfortable. "This good?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's fine." Angel's boxers landed on the shelf. Spike cast a glance at his own boxers, still draped over the sink. There was a nice, slightly off-colored stain on the fabric now. Sigh.

"... alright, now take some lube in your hand and rub your palms together to warm it up. Cold KY is nobody's friend."

Spike squirted a healthy dollop of lube into his palm, then set the bottle aside. He wished that Angel would stop prancing naked around the cell. It made him feel self-conscious. The cold gel squished between his fingers as he pressed his hands together and rubbed. A bit of it escaped his hands and landed with soft plops on his belly.

Angel scooped up the lube on Spike's skin and coated his palm with it, then started rubbing his semihard cock. Spike immediately locked his gaze on the warming KY that made his fingers glisten, moving the gel back and forth between his palms as the sounds of Angel jacking off slowly got more and more pronounced.

"It's warm," Spike announced finally.

"Good," Angel said. "Now move one of your hands down between your legs and start rubbing the KY around your asshole."

Spike's hands were unsteady as he reached between his thighs and touched a fingertip to his hole. The sphincter tightened against any possible intrusion and he danced his fingers around it, leaving behind a bit of lube with every touch.

"No, you're doing it wrong," Angel said. "Here, let me show you." He let go of his cock and picked up the lube, squeezing some into his palm and coating his fingers quickly. "Watch me."

The blond moved his hand away from his ass, prepared to let Angel do what he wanted. He raised an incredulous brow as Angel lay down with his ass next to Spike's chest on the bed and raised his legs in the air, then started massaging the lube into his own tightly clenched hole. "Erm..."

"You have to be firm," Angel said as he methodically applied lube to his sphincter. "Massage the KY in, or it won't do you much good." He looked at Spike, who was lying shell-shocked on the other side of the bed, hands frozen in place above his belly. "Go ahead," he said.

Spike opened and closed his mouth a few times and he blinked twice to clear his head, then moved his hands back down. He turned to watch Angel's fingers working, then bit his lip and began to rub more firmly around his hole. "Like this?" he asked, knowing that Angel could see what he was doing.

"Yeah, just like that," Angel replied. "It feels weird, right? But it's a good kind of weird, once you get used to it." He circled his hole, flicking the tip of his finger across it. "And when you're ready, what you do is start to push one finger inside, like this." He applied a firm, steady pressure to his own sphincter, moving his fingertip in tiny circles until it slid inside up to the first knuckle.

"It feels... it almost... tickles..." Spike admitted, still watching, fascinated, as Angel's finger slipped further inside. His own finger was still rubbing almost tentatively around his hole.

"Then you're not using enough pressure," Angel said. "Use more force. You won't hurt yourself." He pushed in a bit more with his index finger and found his prostate, rubbing it lazily. A soft moan escaped his lips.

A sharp gasp - half shock, half pleasure - permeated the silence on Spike's side of the bed as he applied more force to his touch. He could feel his sphincter opening up under his fingertip, and was soon able to slip it inside. "Warm," he blurted before he could stop himself. "An' soft."

"Mm-hmm..." Angel hummed, thrusting his finger in and out of himself. "See what I'm doing?" he asked.

"Yeah," Spike said. He pushed his well-lubed finger further inside. "Jesus fuck!" he exclaimed as the tip of the invading digit bumped over his prostate. He arched upwards.

"That," Angel said with a smile that Spike heard, "was your prostate. It's one of the main reasons men fuck." He pulled his finger out and slipped two in, thrusting them slowly and relishing the burn as his hole stretched.

Spike decided he could do that, too. He'd had a butt plug inside him all day, after all. He slid a second finger inside and tensed, then shuddered as his questing fingertips discovered his prostate again.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out over both their bodies and their breathing grew quicker and shallower. "Feel good?" Angel asked, biting his lip as his ass clenched slightly around his fingers. He rubbed his perineum with his thumb.

Spike's thumb mimicked the movements of Angel's on his own body. "Yeah..." he rasped honestly. He squeezed his eyes shut and fondled his stiff cock with his free hand, jacking it slowly in time to the rhythm his fingers set inside him.

Without being prompted, Spike pushed a third finger inside his body. It was the hottest thing that Angel had ever seen. He pulled on his sac as he thrust three fingers inside and spread them, gritting his teeth against the pleasant burn as he stretched wider.

"Now that you've got the idea of how to lube yourself up..." Angel trailed off, rolling to his hands and knees beside Spike, and crawled to where the supplies lay. Spike found himself mesmerized by the pinkish-brown, winking hole presented to him as the older man swayed back and forth on his knees. "Would you like to learn how to fuck back on me?" he asked, ripping a condom off the strip and opening the foil package.

"Yes..." Spike half-moaned. He'd berate himself for sounding so eager to get fucked, later. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. He watched as Angel turned the condom over and over in his hands. His entire body went rigid when the slippery piece of latex landed on the head of his cock. He looked at Angel with wide eyes when careful fingers rolled the prophylactic down to the base of his erection. "Erm..." he said for the second time since they'd started.

"Yes?" Angel asked as he applied more lube to the condom. He straddled Spike's waist casually. "Is there a problem?"

"No!" Spike squeaked. He cleared his throat. "No problem." Nope, there wasn't a problem when Angel was gripping his cock by the base and _bloody_ hell, so _this_ was why men fucked each other. He held himself perfectly still while Angel lowered himself down - didn't want to hurt him - and took his cock inside to the root. His breath came in sharp pants, and he couldn't stop staring at Angel with a wide-eyed, shocked expression on his face.

"Ahh..." Angel purred as he settled atop Spike. "Okay. One of the major things about being fucked is that it's no fun if you don't participate. So when the person who's fucking you is pumping their hips..." he paused for emphasis, smiling approvingly when Spike made a few tentative thrusts. "... you move with them." He placed his hands on Spike's chest and braced his weight against them as he began to raise and lower himself on the younger man's cock.

Spike bit his lip and closed his eyes, pumping up into Angel more confidently now. He pushed in when the older man thrust down and pulled out when he raised himself again. He'd never felt anything this tight before, and the tightness made the heat feel that much hotter... A groan rumbled through his chest and his lips parted.

"The other part of a good fuck," Angel moaned, "is the touching." His hands slid further down Spike's chest, fingertips flicking his nipples. Spike's torso arched against his touch and the younger man gasped. "See?"

"Yeah," Spike rasped. "I see." He raised his hands to Angel's torso, exploring planes of hard muscle. His fingertips dipped into Angel's navel, then fanned out along his pelvic ridge. He touched the dark, rough hair that curled around the base of Angel's cock, filtering it through his fingers. With just a tiny moment of deliberation, Spike wrapped his hand around Angel's cock. After all, jacking off the guy you were fucking up the ass didn't make you gay.

"Oh yeah, that's it," the dark-haired man murmured in encouragement. "Keep doing that. Just like that..." His fingers dug into Spike's pecs. "This is how I want you to act when I fuck you. I want you to touch me, and fuck back at me, and - ahh - I know you'll like it, because I heard you when you were fingering yourself..."

"I will," Spike admitted. "Bloody 'ell, you feel good..." he arched his neck and his eyes rolled back. His hand moved up and down, twisting along Angel's shaft. He brushed his palm across Angel's cockhead. "So tight... hotter'n anythin'..."

"Just like you," Angel said. "Fuck me harder, Spike. I can take it." He sped his rhythm up until he was riding Spike's cock at a hard, fast pace, and Spike fucked up into him just as hard, one hand on his shaft and the other on his hip.

Spike knew that Angel was still in charge. There was no way he'd be inside him otherwise. But the older man's ass muscles gripped him in a slick hold as he slid in and out, and he didn't care so much. "Fuck!" he exclaimed as Angel's ass clamped down on his cock. "What was that?"

"Something else you're going to learn," Angel said, and did it again. "Are you close? Are you going to cum hard, Spike? Don't you wish the condom wasn't in the way? Wish you could mark me with your jizz? Do you want me to feel it running out of me and down my legs?"

If the way Spike was panting was any indication, then yeah, he was close, and yeah, he really did want all of that. Not that he was anything but straight. He bucked his hips and groaned. It was on the tip of his tongue to say _You don't know what you're doin' to me_ , but he knew that Angel realized _exactly_ what he was doing - Angel was slowly and deliberately driving him completely insane. He retaliated in the only way he could - by rubbing the underside of Angel's cockhead with his thumb.

"Gah!" Angel groaned, arching into Spike's touch. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I _do_ have a dick," Spike replied, punctuating each word with a thrust. "Figured if it works for me..." The hand on Angel's hip moved down to cup his balls and roll them between nimble fingers.

"That... ungh... that explains a lot. Christ, you're a good fuck," he grunted. He covered Spike's hand with his, moving it faster. "I want you to cum, Spike," he said. "Think about your girlfriend or whatever it is that gets you off, but I want to feel your cock throbbing inside me." His free hand pinched and rolled the blond's nipples.

Spike was surprised at his _lack_ of surprise when the only thought on his mind as he came was how good it felt to fuck Angel's tight ass. His hand fell away from Angel's cock.

Angel grabbed his shaft, humping up and down on Spike's softening cock, and jacked himself until he came, spilling all over the blond's belly. He braced his weight on a locked arm, leaning forward and pulling hard and fast on his dick as it erupted and droplets of sticky cum landed on Spike's skin. When his cock started to droop, he ran a hand through the white, salty mess on the blond's abdomen, rubbing it across soft, hairless skin, then dragged his fingers back again. Back and forth his hand went, up and down, spreading his spendings until Spike's belly and his fingers glistened with cum. He raised his hand to Spike's face. "Lick it off," he said.

And Spike, trying not to grimace, did. His long, pink tongue lapped at the semen on Angel's palm and fingers, cleaning it off until he could taste nothing but skin. Angel smiled down at him and brushed his newly-clean hand across Spike's sweaty forehead and moving sweaty strands of hair out of the younger man's face. Then he eased up and off Spike's soft member and rolled to his back, tugging at the towel he'd draped over the pillow that rested beneath Spike's ass.

It was then that they noticed how quiet the cellblock had become.  
  
The first smattering of applause made Spike blanch. When it grew into the dull roar of a standing ovation, his face flamed. He sat up in embarrassment, pulled off the condom, took the slightly damp towel from Angel, and cleaned himself off. Then he dove under the covers amongst wolf whistles and jeers, and decided that the bed should swallow him whole.


	4. Surprised Fishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No fish were harmed in the writing of this chapter.

_11.02._

Spike sat cross-legged on the floor of the jail cell, reading a book, a look of almost childish innocence on his face. His toes tapped against the concrete floor and his nose scrunched when he came to parts he didn't like. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loose on either side of him, and his feet were bare.

Every once in awhile, he'd look up at Angel, who was watching him intently, charcoal scratching across his sketchpad. Then he'd go back to his reading once more.

_11.17._

Spike was asleep, lying on his side, his face soft and relaxed. His lips were slightly parted and his eyelashes fluttered a bit as he dreamed. Soft breaths moved in and out of his nostrils, which flared just the tiniest flare as he inhaled. There were stray curls lying on his forehead, but Angel didn't move them. Instead he glanced at his sketchbook, then down at the sleeping figure he was crouched before, and found another flaw in his art.

_11.30._

There was a small tattoo on Spike's lower back, standing out starkly against the smooth paleness of his skin. A miniature griffin with an ornate letter A, and there was no denying what it symbolized. His torso rose and fell and the sheet covering his buttocks slipped down a little more with each breath. Angel focused on the planes and angles of the younger man's back in the drawing, fading out to the edges of the paper, accentuating shadow and light as he drew. He looked at the sketchbook for a long time before awakening the slumbering man on the bed.

_12.12._

Spike's hands rested on his bare belly as he stared up at the ceiling, pensively. His fingers framed his navel and overlapped one another. His slow, even breathing was almost hypnotic to Angel as he drew. He stared at the hands resting on the belly that he'd itched to lick and kiss for weeks now, transferring every detail of those hands onto his paper. There was a torn cuticle on Spike's left thumb. He had a scar on the back of his right hand between his ring and middle fingers. These were the hands that touched Angel every day, but only when he needed a sexual release.

Angel wished that Spike would touch him more often.

 

By December thirteenth, Spike had given up his guilt and disgust about getting off with another guy. It was just harmless, albeit frequent, sex. Right? Right. He'd be completely straight again when he got out of prison.

So they fucked. And they fooled around. And they fucked some more. And Spike was perfectly fine with that arrangement. He got off a whole lot more often than he ever had in his life, and even if he _was_ taking it up the ass ninety-nine percent of the time to do it, it wasn't a bad deal.

And now here they were, Spike with his back against the wall, legs wrapped around Angel's waist, head tilted back and mouth open as he gasped and moaned and licked his lips. And Angel was thrusting into him at a hard, fast pace, but all of his concentration was focused on those two little silver balls that held Spike's tongue ring in place.

Angel wondered what they'd feel like against his own tongue. He wondered if those little balls would taste like metal, or they'd taste like Spike. He wondered what Spike would taste like.

He leaned in slowly, hovering with his cheek so close to the blond's that their faces were nearly touching. His breath rushed through his lips as he turned his head slowly, his mouth grazing across one sharp cheekbone. Spike seemed not to notice. Angel withdrew and his hands slid up Spike's sides, down his arms, finding his hands. He lifted the younger man's arms and draped them over his shoulders, then cupped his ass again and thrust with more vigor.

"Fuck, yeah... feels so..." Spike groaned, rolling his head to the side. "Yeah, give it me good..." He righted his head again, panting, and that damn pink tongue with those damn silver balls came out again to lick his damn perfect lips. Angel _really_ wanted a taste.

"Spike," Angel said, sliding a hand behind the blond's head.

"Gnurgh..." said Spike.

"Spike," Angel said again, slowing his tempo.

"Mmm... yeah..." the blond said, rotating his hips down into Angel's and dragging the weeping head of his cock against the older man's abs. When the thrusts in his ass slowed down even more, his eyes popped open. "What are you - don't stop..."

Angel gripped Spike's hips firmly as he ceased all motion. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. " _Spike_ ," he said a third time.

" _What is it_ , you pillock, that is so important that you 'ave to stop buggerin' me?" Spike snapped. His nostrils were flaring, and there was another fire in his eyes, just beneath the heat of arousal. It was perfect.

Angel leaned in and kissed him.

As first kisses go, this one left much to be desired. Spike hadn't been expecting it and his expression took on the characteristics of a surprised fish - all bugged-out eyes and tightly-puckered lips - and he was unresponsive, by in large, to Angel's ministrations. He broke away from the older man's mouth with a sharp squeak, retaining the wide eyes, and licked his lips. Huh. Angel taste.

No, it was the second kiss that did them both in. This time, Spike was ready, and his mouth opened under Angel's as the older man's tongue stroked along the seam of his lips. They both exhaled on little sighs as their tongues met and mingled, and it was only then that Angel started thrusting again.

Spike cupped the back of Angel's skull with his left hand, much like Angel cradled Spike's head, and there wasn't a trace of the surprised fish left anywhere in the building as his tongue twisted around the dark-haired man's. He rocked his hips down into the older man's, panting against his lips, and clutched at his shoulder with the hand that wasn't buried in his hair.

Angel moaned into the kiss, palming Spike's ass cheeks as he raised and lowered him on his cock. He drank in the taste of the blond, flicking his tongue over Spike's, and tasted the metal balls on the long, pink organ. He couldn't taste a difference between the tongue ring and Spike's mouth. And his mouth tasted every bit as good as Angel had hoped it would.

The blond wasn't sure who had broken the kiss. He only knew that Angel's lips were attacking his throat as if he wanted to sink his teeth in and leave a mark, and that the older man's tongue flickering over his pulse points was one of the hottest things he'd ever felt. His head fell back against the wall and he moaned. "Fuck..." He ground his ass down, taking more of Angel's cock inside, and humped against the dark-haired man's abs. "Unh, yeah! Harder... fuck me!"

Angel spread Spike's ass wider and fucked up into him harder. His mouth traveled across the younger man's shoulder, licking and sucking his collarbone. He wrapped one arm around Spike's waist and snaked the other hand between their bodies, fisting the blond's throbbing cock. "You're wound up so tight, aren't you...? Getting so hot for me..." he murmured, pumping his fist.

Spike groaned and bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on tightening his ass around Angel's pistoning shaft. He released his lip with a grin as Angel gasped against his shoulder. Then he clenched down again. "So fuckin' hot," he whispered harshly. "Feel so big inside me. Fuck me hard... Make me cum..." He found Angel's lips with his again, kissing him heatedly.

Angel groaned low in his throat and dove headfirst into the kiss, thrusting his tongue against Spike's as he pounded up into him. Both of his hands tightened a bit on the blond's flesh. His thumb roughly brushed over the head of Spike's cock and the smaller man shuddered against him.

Spike nipped at Angel's lower lip, then grasped it between his teeth and pulled back slightly. When he released it, it snapped back. Then he leaned in again for another kiss, hips jerking up against Angel's hand and down against his pelvis in a mindless rhythm. They kissed again and again, and Spike didn't care that his bare back was being abraded by the cold, cinder-block wall or that he probably wouldn't be able to sit down for awhile after the hard fucking that Angel was giving him. "Gonna cum," he warned, covering Angel's hand with his own.

"Me too," Angel said. He kissed Spike again, this time a bit sloppily. When he pulled back, he pressed Spike harder against the wall, staring into his eyes and daring him wordlessly to climax first. His tongue snaked out and licked across Spike's lips, and his harsh breaths mingled with Spike's in the few inches of space between their faces.

"Ohgodohfuck..." Spike moaned, his head rolling back again and resting on the wall. "Fuck... yeah... gonna... nnghohgod..." He thrust up into Angel's fist and cried out when Angel's lips descended on his throat, sucking at his Adam's apple. "Unh! Ungh! _Hungh!_ " he grunted, jerking his hips up once, twice, and a third time as his balls drew up. His fingers bit into Angel's shoulders as he came, spilling all over the older man's hand and belly. "Yeah... fuck..."

Angel's lips parted with a hoarse cry as Spike's hole clenched tightly around him. He slid his clean hand down, fondling the blond's ass and gripping it hard. "Sp - agh - " He cried out hoarsely as he slammed Spike down and his hips up, locking himself in place as his cock pulsed and flooded the condom.

Spike slumped against Angel, languid, panting harshly. His face was mashed to Angel's shoulder and he felt the older man's body trembling as he rode out his climax. Angel's weight held him to the wall and he hoped that they wouldn't start to slide.

Finally Angel was still, and he pulled out [ _too soon!_ ], unwrapping Spike's legs from around his waist. His hand and belly were sticky with Spike's cum, and he wrapped his cleaner hand around the base of the condom, holding it in place on his softening cock. "You alright?" he asked, and Spike nodded.

The blond's knees buckled when his feet hit the floor. He leaned back heavily on the wall, breathing hard, waiting for his pulse to steady and feeling to return to his limbs before walking over to the sink to get cleaned up. He looked over at Angel, who was calmly wiping himself dry after a quick scrubbing with a washcloth, then returned his attention to the sink. He picked up a cloth, dampened it with warm water, and wiped up most of the lube that had run out of his still-open ass and down his legs. When he was completely clean, he made his way to the bed, flopping down on his side and covering himself with a blanket.

Angel decided to forego the nightly ritual of drawing Spike in his post-coital languor. Instead, he slipped into bed beside him and turned onto his side to face him. "You didn't mind, did you?" he asked.

"Mind what?" Spike questioned in return.

"That I kissed you," Angel said. He looked toward his toes. "If you did, I won't - "

"I didn't mind," the blond interjected.

"Oh. Well, good, then, because - "

Spike cut him off with a kiss. When he withdrew, he said, "Did you mind?"

Angel laughed.

 

"It occurs to me," Spike said, "that we've been shaggin' for well over a month now, an' I don't know the first thing about you." He rolled onto his back on the bed, folding back the business section of the newspaper, and scanned the stock quotes. "I mean, I know your last name an' that you're a good lay, but that's all."

"Well, it's not like we're dating," Angel said. He set his part of the paper aside. "I didn't think we needed to know anything about each other."

"Never mind then," Spike mumbled into the stock quotes.

The dark-haired man immediately sat up, looking contrite. "Hey," he said, pulling down the paper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you actually wanted to, you know, get to know me."

"Just a habit, I s'pose," Spike admitted. "If I don't learn about the person I'm shaggin' ahead of time, I try to by the two month mark. Never really been one for anonymous sex."

"I caught that by how reluctant you were your first day in," Angel said. He lay back again and stacked his hands behind his head, then nodded subtly as if making a decision. "Liam Angelus Killarney."

"What?" Spike set down the paper and turned his head to look at the man lying next to him, whose American accent had suddenly given way to something softer, more lilting.

"Me full name. Liam Angelus Killarney, son of Connor and Maeliosa Killarney; born on August the nineteenth, twenty-eight years ago, in Galway, Ireland. I've got a little sister named Catherine, a pretty lass o' twenty. Havena seen her for goin' on seven years." He got out of bed and picked his sketchbook up off the foot locker, then lay back down and flipped through the pages. "Here. This is Cathy."

Spike took the book from Angel, studying a drawing of a dark-haired girl about twelve or thirteen years of age. "You must miss her," he said, handing the book back to Angel. "Have you written to her?"

Angel shook his head. "When I came t' America, seven years ago, m'father cut all ties wit' me. I've heard naught from me family since I left Galway."

_"Ye're a good-for-nothin' layabout, ye are!" Connor Killarney overturned his son's dresser drawers as he packed. "Goin' off to *America* t' be an *artist*. Ye bring shame on yer father, Liam. I wanted a son. Someone t' pass on th' good name of Killarney. Instead, I have a fairy that's no' worth my blood."_

_"I'll be gone soon enough, father, an' you won't have to look upon m' shameful face anymore," Liam said, biting down on the inside of his cheek and blinking furiously to keep the tears that were welling up in his eyes from falling._

_"Go then," Connor said in disgust. "I want you out o' my home, Liam. Dinna expect me to take ye in again."_

He winced and closed the book. "Mayhap I should speak 'f my experiences after I left Ireland," Angel said. "They're far more pleasant t' remember."

"Did you go straight to California?" Spike asked. "Or did you end up somewhere else first?" He moved to his side and slid one leg slightly in front of the other.

"Where else would th' stereotypical Irish immigrant artist go, _mo rún_ ," Angel asked, "but New York City?"

"You're hardly stereotypical," Spike muttered under his breath.

"I got m'self a tiny flat in the Bronx, set up a studio in th' kitchen, an' met a girl. Her name was Dru, an' a fairer lass I'd never seen. Eyes dark as night, skin pale as ivory, an' long, soft hair that begged to be touched. T'was about th' only touchable part of her, but I loved her just the same." He shifted, settling on his side and facing Spike.

"Was she the one - "

"That broke m' heart an' caused me to nearly commit murder?" Angel finished. "She's th' one. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself now. Within a few weeks, she'd moved into th' flat with me. Moved 'er drugs in, too."

"So she gave you the drugs..." Spike trailed off and shook his head sadly.

"Five months after I met Dru, I was addicted t' heroin. Look," he said, holding up his arm. There were very faint marks on his inner elbow where needles had pierced the skin, again and again. "If there's one thing positive I can say 'bout prison, it cleaned me up."

Spike touched the track mark scars lightly with his fingertips. "Didn't it hurt?"

"Only when I didn't have any," Angel said. "Ah, but you've never done anything so foul to yourself, have you, _mo mhúirnín bán_? That's good. Don't hurt yourself like that."

"Why did you cover up your accent?" the blond asked. He hadn't removed his hand from the older man's arm. "The American is so bland, an' it sounded almost forced."

"Th' same reason I didn't tell my father that I liked the boys in my classes a bit more than th' girls," Angel replied. "It's easier t' blend in than to stand out."

Spike made a face. "I've always liked standin' out, m'self," he said with a gesture toward his head. "Though, I'm in desperate need of a touch-up."

Angel chuckled, then looked down at Spike's hand on his arm. "We should see about gettin' you a bottle o' fingernail varnish," he said. "I noticed that your nails were black when you first came 'ere."

Spike shrugged. "I could do without," he said. He looked down at his fingers, then moved his gaze back up to Angel's face. His hand slid slowly up the older man's arm as he leaned in to kiss him.


	5. Rude Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike experiences something new.

" _Aaaaaaiiiigh!_ "

Spike and Angel jerked out of sleep, their arms reflexively tightening around each other, then relaxing. They looked around for a moment, taking in their surroundings, and then Spike mashed his face against Angel's chest and attempted to go back to sleep.

"Oh, oh, oh, _yes!_ "

"What time is it...?" Spike mumbled against Angel's skin. His words were mostly muffled, but Angel caught them just the same.

Angel cracked one eye open and fumbled behind him for the foot locker, grabbing his watch. "Four-thirty," he groaned. The watch dropped onto the locker with a soft thump. "Two and a half hours until breakfast."

"Think we could fall back - "

" _Oooooooh, fuck meeeee!_ "

Angel dropped his head onto Spike's shoulder. "Mayhap if we plug each other's ears?" he suggested.

_Creak. Thump. Creak. Thump._

"You're the one who's been 'ere longer, mate," Spike said. "How do you ignore 'em?"

"Usually, they're a bit nicer 'bout the early-mornin' tumbles," Angel said. "I used to pretend that I was watchin' a skin flick, an' toss off."

Angel's morning wood poked Spike in the hip. _Groan._ Spike poked back and grinned sleepily.

"Part your lips for me, _mo rún_ ," Angel murmured, tilting Spike's head up.

"What does that mean?" Spike asked, even as he lifted his head and licked his lips obligingly, leaning in toward the older man.

Angel shook his head with a tiny smile. "Shh..." he whispered below the noise of Jenna's overly enthusiastic squealing. "'Tis a secret." Then he closed the distance between them, sealing his mouth over Spike's in a lazy, good-morning kiss.

Spike responded in kind, parting his lips wider and licking at Angel's tongue when it swept into his mouth. His hands slid down the older man's back and their noses bumped as they both angled their heads at once, switching directions in the kiss. Spike slipped a knee between Angel's and pressed closer to him.

The dark-haired man broke away, peppering more tiny kisses across Spike's cheek and down his throat. He nuzzled Spike's collarbone. "Good mornin'," he said, kissing Spike again.

"Morning breath," Spike grunted when the kiss broke. He thrust against Angel, rotating his hips until their cocks aligned, then set an easy pace, rocking back and forth against the older man.

Angel frowned. "Mornin' breath? Lovely greetin'."

"I don't mind it," Spike said. "Not while we're doing somethin' productive, anyway." He arched up, dragging his cock along Angel's belly. "C'mon, mate, work with me here," he said, noticing that Angel was motionless.

"Turn over," Angel purred, his eyes gleaming. The statement was punctuated by another breathy moan from the next cell over.

Spike rolled his eyes, chuckled, and moved onto his belly, sticking his ass up in the air and wiggling it enticingly at Angel. He was downright gobsmacked when the first thing he felt wasn't a cool, slick finger rubbing around his hole, but rather a hot mouth running over the tattoo on his lower back. And, oh, there were Angel's hands, spreading his cheeks wide, and dear fucking _God_ , he hoped that the older man wasn't planning on fucking him dry.

Wait. What was Angel doing? His mouth was moving lower. Spike tried not to squirm, really he did, but having someone's mouth on his ass crack wasn't on his list of daily activities. Angel sensed Spike's agitation and placed a hand on his lower back. "Easy, Spike," he whispered. "This'll feel good, I promise. Jus' relax..."

 _Easy for you to say,_ Spike thought as he pressed his face against the pillow and forced himself to stay still. He would not move. He wouldn't even twitch. He was going to stay right in the position that he was in, and not -

He nearly flew off the bed when Angel's tongue swirled around his asshole.

Jenna squealed.

"Shh..." Angel said, pulling away. "If ye dinna stop movin', I wilna be able to do this for you." His hand rubbed over Spike's back. "Calm yerself down. Deep breaths, yeah?"

Right. Relaxing, deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale exhale. _Inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale_. Shit. Spike was fairly sure he was hyperventilating. Maybe he'd better start over with those deep breaths. In. Out. Yeah, this was good. This was... warm, and soft, and wet. Hmm...

"There ye go," Angel murmured, lapping at Spike's sphincter. His hands kneaded the younger man's ass cheeks and his tongue flattened against the tight ring of muscle, then prodded at it in an attempt to loosen it.

So this was what getting eaten out felt like. Spike's hands tangled in the blankets and he turned his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. His sphincter clenched and relaxed, and he jerked when the tip of Angel's tongue slipped inside him. Oooooh... if Angel did this once a day, every day, Spike decided he'd be his slave forever.

Angel pulled back and exhaled slowly, directing a stream of moist air across Spike's puckered little hole. "Ye like this, then?" he asked, moving in and licking Spike's crack from bottom to top.

Spike let loose a garbled stream of syllables, followed by a soft, high-pitched gasp. He pressed his face into the pillow and groaned, pushing back against Angel. "Fuck..." he muttered. "Didn't know this would feel so..." Good. Incredible. Amazing. Spike decided that all the words in the English language didn't do this justice. He kneaded the blankets and mewled like a kitten when Angel's tongue darted inside again.

He whimpered in frustration when Angel moved away. Spike wondered if Angel was pulling back because he tasted funny. Then his brow furrowed. He didn't want to taste funny. He'd just have to scrub extra hard in the showers today.

"Hands an' knees, _mo rún_ ," Angel said, slipping a hand under Spike's chest and pulling him up. "I canna touch you the way I'd like if you're lyin' flat on your belly."

Spike swayed slightly on his knees, but locked his elbows and arched his back, offering himself.

Angel made a little, satisfied sound, then moved back behind Spike again. "Spread yer legs a bit wider, now," he said, nudging the blond's inner thighs even as he got comfortable and leaned in to resume his previous ministrations.

The blond shifted a bit, spreading his thighs, and planted his knees firmly on the thin mattresses. He moaned softly when Angel started licking him again, swirling his tongue around his hole before darting inside. Spike sighed in relief. If he tasted funny, Angel wouldn't have started up again. A low groan bubbled forth when Angel's hand slipped between his thighs and cupped his balls, then grasped his cock from behind.

Spike was fairly sure that Angel had an extra hand hidden somewhere. There was no other way to explain the cool, slippery fingers that replaced Angel's tongue on his hole. How the hell had he gotten the lube, anyway? Then Angel's fingers pushed inside, and Spike forgot about everything but the sensations that the older man's artist hands could create in him.

"Gonna fuck me?" Spike asked, digging his fingers into the blankets and arching his back.

"Fuck me!" Jenna echoed.

Spike raised an eyebrow and laughed softly. He wiggled his hips slightly with another moan. He looked over his shoulder at the older man, thrusting into his hand. At some point, he was planning on pondering when he'd become such a slut. For now, though... "Ooh... do that again..." he moaned as Angel wiggled his fingers and thrust them deep.

"Ye mean this?" Angel purred, adding a third finger and repeating the motion. He watched as Spike bucked and shimmied. "Ye're so pretty when I touch ye," he murmured, pressing his lips to the tattoo again.

Spike nodded and groaned. Maybe he'd start moisturizing so that he'd be even prettier, and Angel would keep doing - oooh... - _that_. He thrust back on Angel's fingers and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he'd had the wind knocked out of him because Angel had flipped him onto his back. He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "You planning on clubbing me over the head an' dragging me off to your cave now?" he asked as Angel lubed his latex-encased cock.

"D'rather club ye elsewhere," Angel replied. He pushed Spike's legs up and aligned his cock at the blond's opening. Spike's calves rested on Angel's shoulders and he pushed up, bracing his weight on his hands. He thrust forward then and groaned softly.

"Mmm... fuck..." Spike moaned, arching up to meet Angel's initial thrust. He bit his lip as Angel slid inside to the hilt. His hands came up and tangled in the dark-haired man's hair, tugging him down for a kiss.

As Angel's tongue curled around Spike's, he pulled back slowly, then thrust back in, hard. Spike slid up the bed a half-inch, and Angel pulled him back with a firm grip on his hips. "Do ye want it nice an' hard?" he asked, slamming into Spike again. "Or slow an' gentle?"

"Hard," Spike gasped as Angel's hips slapped against his. "Nothin' like a hard buggerin' at an ungodly hour of the morning to wake you right up." He yanked Angel down again, running his piercing-adorned tongue over his lower lip, then thrust up against him insistently. "Fuck me," he muttered against the older man's mouth.

Angel gripped Spike's hips harder and slid a pillow beneath his ass, then commenced the reaming of Spike's life. It was all Spike could do to hold onto Angel's shoulders and hope he wouldn't slide off the bed. He humped up against Angel as hard as he could, savoring the tiny stings of flesh slapping against flesh as the older man's balls and thighs hit his upturned ass.

"Such a sweet little ass ye have..." Angel groaned. "Soft an' slippery an' beggin' for _mó bhad_..." He thrust impossibly harder, watching Spike slide back and forth on the shaking bed.

"You're gonna..." Spike grunted, "... 'ave to tell me what it is..." he trailed off on a moan. "... that you're sayin' one of these - gnagh - days..." He clutched at Angel's shoulders and arched his back, dragging his cockhead over the bigger man's belly. "Fuck... harder..." he groaned softly, almost hypnotized by the rhythmic squeaking of the bed.

"As ye wish," Angel said, capturing Spike's lips in a hot kiss. He thrust his tongue deep and fucked the blond at a punishing pace that he'd be feeling later. His balls slapped against Spike's ass and the bed creaked and dipped with their movements. Angel changed the angle of his thrusts and rolled his hips up, searching for Spike's prostate with his cockhead.

The moment that Angel's wildly thrusting cock hit Spike's prostate, the blond arched off the bed with a howl that rivaled one of Jenna's cries. His fingers dug into the dark-haired man's shoulders and he ground the back of his head into the bed, exposing his long, pale neck. Angel latched onto the side of his throat, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Spike clutched the back of Angel's head with one hand and moaned again. "Give it me good," he rasped.

Angel corkscrewed his hips, pounding into Spike's ass. "This good enough?" he grunted. His cockhead jabbed against Spike's prostate with every thrust. He lowered Spike's legs and rolled so that Spike was straddling his waist. "Ride me, _mo rún_ ," he urged.

Spike braced his hands on Angel's chest and started a hard, fast rhythm, bouncing and arching in the older man's lap. He pushed himself up so he was sitting straight up, then leaned back and grasped Angel's thighs, with his own hips still bucking upward and his cock fucking an invisible mouth.

Angel replaced the imagined fuck hole with his hand, throwing his head back as Spike's grasping ass clung to his cock. He thrust up into the blond with little jerks of his hips, letting the younger man do the work for the most part. He fondled Spike's balls with his other hand as he started to jerk his cock opposite his thrusts.

"Fuck!" Spike hissed, his upper body undulating. His hips jerked up and his cock filled Angel's hand. When Angel's thumbnail scraped over the slit in his cockhead, Spike went wild. He cried out hoarsely, back arching and chest heaving. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip, and covered his body in a thin, salty, slippery sheen.

The older man leaned up and licked sweat from Spike's lips, rolling the salty taste over his tongue. Spike tasted Angel's sweat as they kissed and Spike bucked and rocked. "Gonna make me cum?" he asked in a rough voice, his fingers tightening on Angel's thighs.

"Dinna I always?" Angel asked in response, pushing Spike to his back again and kneeling between his legs. He held Spike's upper thighs in his hands and fucked him hard. "Go on," he urged. "Let go, Spike. Cum fer me," he grunted, watching the blond's face from their new position.

Spike arched his back again with a strangled moan, his eyes rolling back. His cock twitched once, twice, in Angel's hand, then throbbed and spat thick wads of milky white fluid onto his chest and belly. He panted and groaned, head lolling on the bed as his hips jerked and twitched.

"Tha's good," Angel murmured, driving into Spike with bruising force. "Feel so good..." He gripped Spike's hips, flinging his head back with a groan. "Spike..." he gasped. " _Táim ag teach!_ " He closed his eyes as shudders wracked through him and his pulsating cock flooded the condom.

Spike let out a little "Umph," as Angel collapsed atop him. He curled around the older man's body for a moment, frowning slightly when Angel pulled his semi-hard and softening cock out and removed the condom. He arranged himself so he was more comfortable on the bed, watching as the older man stumbled across the room and flushed the used condom, then tossed him a towel.

"Could barely walk this time," Angel said with a little laugh, cleaning himself off. He returned to the bed when Spike was nearly done sopping up the cum on his torso. "You're such a good lil' _striapach_..."

"Don't know what that means," Spike said tiredly, "but it sounds pretty, so I'll forgive you if you just insulted me." He allowed Angel to pull him close and pressed his face to the older man's chest. "Think now we'll get a bit more sleep?" he asked, noticing that Jenna and Forrest had quieted down.

Angel shifted and picked up his watch again. "Two hours until brekkie," he said. "Sleep." He stroked Spike's head affectionately and closed his eyes after replacing the timepiece.

His only response was a soft snore. Spike was way ahead of him.

 

"You're lucky I don't hit women," Spike said in the changing area of the showers as he stripped his shirt off and set it aside. He looked Jenna over. "... or, blokes who look like women. Do you realize that your girlie squeals woke Angel an' I up at four thirty this mornin'?"

Jenna took off her tuck, draping the stiff garment over a grab bar. She grabbed her crotch in a most unladylike manner and said in a baritone voice, "Suck it, Spike. I wasn't exactly thrilled when Forrest grabbed me around the waist and told me that I had to get rid of his hard-on so he could sleep."

"But you do a good job of faking it," Andrew said. "You should do one of those chicks with dicks porn movies before you get your tits taken off when you're paroled." He shucked off his pants and folded them. "I saw one once based on Star Wars. She looked just like Padme..." His expression grew dreamy and the others rolled their eyes.

Spike kicked off his boots and tossed his pants on top of his shirt, then pulled off his undershirt and boxers, strolling nude into the shower room with soap and razor in hand. He lathered up quickly at the middle showerhead, then mechanically rid himself of any and all stubble from the neck down.

Jenna entered the room, breasts jiggling, followed by Andrew. Xander and Scott, who'd come in a bit late, soon joined them. "How's Angel?" Xander asked casually, lathering his hair up with his bar of soap.

"Sleepin' it off," Spike replied with a smirk. "Gave 'im a run for 'is money this afternoon." He set his razor aside and soaped his smooth skin again, then stood under the cascade of hot water and tilted his head back. "An' stop checkin' out my ass, Hope."

Scott offered a little smile and blushed a bit, looking over at Jenna instead. She was standing with one hand braced against the wall, working her hard cock at a furious pace. Spike gave her a quick glance, then returned his attention to getting himself squeaky-clean. He rubbed the bar of soap over his hair and hummed softly to himself.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"

"Jesus Christ!" Jenna exclaimed, whirling around and dropping her cock as if it were a red-hot piece of metal. The other subs turned to look at the newcomer. It was Luke, the single inmate that bunked across the corridor from Spike and Angel.

"What do you want, Luke?" Andrew asked with more assertiveness than he really felt. He wanted to cower behind Spike. Spike was strong and lithely muscled, and he'd be able to protect them.

"I'd like to talk to Spike," Luke said, rubbing absently at the towel wrapped around his waist. He motioned for Spike to follow him into the changing area.

"I don't think so, mate," Spike said. "Whatever you 'ave to say to me, you can say it in front of these blokes."

Luke stared at Spike for a moment. "I'd really rather - "

"I know what 'appened to the last bloke stupid enough to find 'imself alone with you, Luke," Spike said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now talk."

"It regards your first night in this prison, and the circumstances that caused you to go under Angel's protection."

"Right," Spike said. "Out with it, then." He narrowed his eyes at the hulking man.

"He has the prison guards under his thumb. Your supposed rescue was merely an orchestrated plan to get you into his bed." Luke eyed Spike, as if waiting for the shock to set in.

"And?" Spike asked. "I knew that."

"You know that he manipulated you into his cell, but you stay with him?" the bigger man questioned.

"I'd rather be Angel's bitch than be takin' it from some of the other blokes in this place," Spike said matter-of-factly, looking at Luke pointedly. "Now if you'll excuse us, we have three minutes left of shower time."

Luke stared at Spike for a long moment, then turned and left the room.

Approximately three seconds later, Spike staggered back and slumped against the wall, his legs threatening to give out.

"You alright, man?" Xander asked, looking at Spike concernedly.

"I thought he was gonna kill me," Spike wheezed, pressing a hand to his chest. "My life was flashin' behind my eyes. I don't think I paid my taxes this year."

"Nobody's ever stood up to Luke like that," Andrew marveled. "You must have brass balls. Either that or you're completely insane."

"Maybe a bit of both," Spike reasoned. "I could really use a cigarette right now."

 

"Had my first near-death experience since gettin' locked up," Spike said upon returning from the showers. He rubbed his head with a towel, then draped it over the bar by the sink. "Luke came in while we were showerin'. Decided to take it upon himself to inform me that you 'ave the guards in your pocket, an' that you rehearsed that scene with Finn an' the others."

Angel paled. "Ye didna... Did ye..." His mouth opened and closed a few times.

"I knew," Spike said. "You were convincin', but Finn is a horrible actor." He flopped back on the bed.

"Ye knew? It didna bother ye?" Angel asked, looking confused.

"You obviously 'aven't taken a good look at some of the inmates here," Spike said. "If I were given the choice, do you think I'd pick you, or Mr. I-Could-Break-You-In-Half-With-My-Teeth across the way there, to bunk with for the duration of my stay?"

"Glad t' see that ye've got taste," Angel said with a laugh.

"Doesn't mean that I forgive you for manipulatin' me into your clutches," Spike said, sitting up and moving so he straddled Angel's lap. "That was crooked an' wrong."

"Whatever can I do t' make it up t' ye?" the dark-haired man asked, licking his lips. He grinned when Spike's hands landed on his shoulders and the blond leaned in to whisper in his ear.

 "Let me fuck you again."


	6. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angel (temporarily) cedes control. Also there are props.

 

"Let me fuck you again."

Angel sagged visibly in relief. "That all, then?" he asked, licking his lips as Spike moved to his other side.

"No," Spike murmured, nipping Angel's earlobe, "that's not all." He got up. "Strip," he said. "I want to see what I'm workin' with." He moved back and leaned against the wall, motioning for Angel to get up when he hesitated.

The older man got to his feet and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He leered at Spike as his shirt ascended his chest. His motion came to a halt when Spike shook his head. "What now?" he questioned, releasing his shirt.

Spike folded his arms across his chest. "Make it sexy," he instructed. "Make me want you."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, listening Spike move around the cell. He heard him open the foot locker and pull a few items out, and his curiosity got the best of him. He opened his eyes again. "What're ye doin'?" he asked, noting the objects lined up on the bed.

"Don't worry about it," Spike said. "Strip."

Angel shrugged and ran a hand down his shirt-covered chest, his hips twitching rhythmically. He cupped his groin, squeezing it through his pants, and trailed his other hand up his thigh, past his waist, catching his shirt on the way up. He bit his lip as his fingertips skated past his abdominal muscles.

Spike turned his gaze on Angel, resuming his position at the wall. "Those are my hands on you," he murmured. "Touchin' you, slidin' across your skin..."

"Yes..." Angel hissed, flicking open the button on his fly and slipping his fingers inside. "Touch me, _mo rún_... Feels so good..." He circled his hips in the air, pulling his shirt up further. His back arched, outlining his abs, which were clearly visible through his stretched skin. The shirt caught briefly on his hard nipples before moving further upward.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Spike asked huskily, rubbing himself slowly through his pants. "Where do you want me to touch you?" He licked his lips as Angel tugged his shirt over his head, then pinched one of his nipples lightly and moaned. "D'you want me to pull down your fly an' jack you off?"

"Please," Angel whispered. He lowered his zipper achingly slowly, pushing his hand further inside his pants underneath his boxers. With one last flick across his other nipple with his fingertips, he flattened his hand against his chest and dragged it down around to his hip. "Want ye," he said urgently.

The blond pushed off the wall, stepping toward Angel. He trailed a finger down the older man's chest, tickling his waist just above the elastic of his underwear. "Do you want me to reach inside an' take you out?" he murmured. He stood up on his toes and whispered in Angel's ear, "Push your pants down an' let me see you." He followed the softly-spoken order with a nip and a lick to his earlobe.

Angel hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them out, then down. His nearly hard cock bounced out of the constraints of the underwear as he shimmied out of them. Breath whooshed in and out of his lungs as he gazed at Spike, who gazed back at him.

"Very nice," Spike said. "Take it all off, then bend over an' show me your ass, alright?" He grazed his fingertips over Angel's pecs, flicking his nipples, then stepped away so he could bend down and pull off his socks.

The bigger man kicked his pants and boxers away, then turned to face the bed. He closed his eyes as he bent forward, wrapping his hands around his calves. Spike's fingers slid down his back, parting his hair-dusted ass cheeks, and he shivered when the blond's thumb pressed against his tight ass pucker. He barely contained the whimper that threatened to bubble up when his cell mate stopped touching him.

Spike walked around to the end of the bed where he'd lined up the items from the foot locker. He picked up a moderately-sized black butt plug that was attached to a battery pack via a long cord. "Lie down," he said, "slick yourself up, an' put this in."

Angel gave Spike a look. "Nobody c'n find out 'bout this," he said. "If they do..." He trailed off, his brow furrowed.

"I won't tell a soul," Spike replied. "This is between you an' me, yeah? After all..." He turned bright, wide blue eyes on his cell mate. "... you _did_ take advantage of my innocence about this sort of situation..."

"Ye said ye knew," Angel retorted.

"That's completely beside the point." Spike motioned for Angel to get on the bed. "On your back, now," he said. "You've been bad, an' need some punishin'."

"And I suppose ye're the person t'be dolin' out this punishment?" the dark-haired man asked as he situated himself on the bed. "I'll take it. Once." His expression immediately shifted from assertive to submissive. "May I have lube, Sir?" he asked, keeping his eyes lowered.

"Yeah," Spike said. Then he cleared his throat. "I mean, yes, you may." He handed the bottle of lubricant to Angel. "Use it as you'd like, but don't touch your dick." He stepped back and unzipped his fly, rubbing his cock through his boxers as Angel slicked up his fingers and methodically slicked the skin around his puckered hole.

Angel bit his lip to suppress a moan as he slid the tip of his middle finger across his ass pucker, then pressed slightly inside. "Sir, may I fuck m'self with me fingers?" he questioned, closing his eyes when he pressed harder against the lubed sphincter, rubbing and massaging it open wide enough for a finger to slide in.

"You may," Spike said. He moved around and leaned against the wall opposite from Angel, watching every move he made. "More," he murmured. "Get yourself ready for the plug."

Rubbing the slippery fingers of his other hand over his perineum, Angel slid his middle finger inside himself up to the second knuckle. He thrust it quickly and carefully, crooking it a few times at his prostate. When he heard Spike's grunt of approval, he spiraled his finger, stretching himself wide enough to add a second digit.

"That's good. When you've got a third, pull out, slick up the plug, and put it in." Spike shoved his boxers down around his knees and started stroking his cock in time to Angel's fingers' movements in his ass. He brushed his thumb over the head and his eyelids fluttered. His own ass clenched as Angel pushed a third finger inside himself.

"Wish it were my fingers inside you?" Spike asked. "Wish I were the one stretchin' you out, gettin' you ready for me...?" He approached the bed, moving around to Angel's head, then leaned down and murmured in the older man's ear. "Don't you wish it were me slidin' that plug deep inside you?" He ran his hands over Angel's chest as the dark-haired man seated the plug, then walked around to his front again. "When I turn this on," he said, "I want you to wank off until you come."

Angel nodded and bit his lip, waiting for the first vibrating pulses from the plug before grasping his cock. As soon as Spike flipped the switch, he wrapped his long fingers around his thick shaft and started pulling on it. He moved his free hand back up to his chest, flicking and twisting his nipples. His teeth sank lightly into his lower lip and his eyes closed.

"That's my hand bringin' you off," Spike said. "Can you feel it? Feel me twistin' an' pullin' on you? Rubbin' my thumb across your head..." He walked around to Angel's head, then crouched down and lay his arms on either side of the older man's body. He leaned in and licked Angel's earlobe. "Feel me wankin' you off," he murmured. "Feel me pinchin' your little nipples. Can you feel me?"

"Yes," Angel moaned. "Gonna make me come..." His hand moved faster. "Touch me, Spike. Make me come, please..." He arched up into his hand, riding out the vibrations from the plug in his ass. Spike picked up the battery pack and flicked another switch. The vibrations increased, and within a minute, Angel's cock was jerking and twitching in his hand as it spat milky white fluid all over his belly. "Mmmnnnnohgod, Spike..."

"You want me to lick it off you?" Spike purred, rounding the bed again. "Want me to drink down your spunk?" He ran a finger over Angel's abs, carefully avoiding the wet spots, and turned off the butt plug. Then he walked over to the sink, picked up a towel, and carried it over to Angel. "Clean yourself off an' take out the plug."

Angel blinked up at Spike, moving slowly. He'd thought that Spike would want to - he stopped in mid-thought, reminding himself that this was supposed to be a punishment. He slid the plug out of his ass and set it aside and wiped himself clean, watching through hooded eyes as Spike examined his hole. "What should I do now, Sir?" he asked in the same soft, submissive tone he'd used earlier.

"Relax an' close your eyes," Spike said.

Trusting that Spike wouldn't inflict anything too painful on him, Angel closed his eyes and waited. A moment later, he felt metal and leather surrounding his cock. When the last snap was clasped, he asked, "May I open my eyes now?"

"You may," Spike replied. "Then get on the bed, on your hands an' knees, close to the end." He pulled his belt through the loops.

Angel looked down at his cock, completely trapped in a cock cage that consisted of metal rings and a strap of leather. A steel cock ring was fitted around his shaft, with his balls drawn through it. He shivered as he started getting hard again. Head down, he crawled onto the bed and wiggled his ass at Spike.

"Do you trust me?" Spike asked softly, crouching down by Angel's head. "Do you?"

"Aye," Angel replied. "I trust ye." He looked down at his hands as Spike lashed them to the end of the bed with his belt. "What is it ye plan to do with me, Sir?" he asked.

"Teach you a lesson about tryin' to fool me," Spike replied. He ran a hand over Angel's ass, then moved to his side. "Such a pretty, white ass you've got," he murmured. "I'm gonna beat it cherry red."

Angel tensed, but kept his head down.

"Not gonna hurt you," Spike said. "You might be a bit sore when you sit down next, but I won't hurt you." He caressed Angel's ass cheeks for a moment.

The first slap was drowned out by the sound of the lights shutting off in the cell block, for lights out. "One," Angel said automatically.

"One, _what_?"

"One, Sir." He braced himself. _smacksmack **smack**_ "Four, Sir." His cock strained in the sheath as Spike continued to spank him and he continued to count. A thin sheen of sweat broke out all over his body. "Fifteen, Sir."

Spike paused and caressed Angel's rosy cheeks gently. He stepped back and began to strip. "Relax," he told Angel. "I'm going to give you five more." He tossed his clothes to a pile on the floor, then moved back to Angel's side. _smack_ He couldn't believe how much he was enjoying this - being in charge, listening to Angel whimper and moan on the bed. Whether the noises the older man made were stemmed in pleasure or pain, he didn't know.

_thwack_

Spike's hand skidded across Angel's sweaty ass. Angel bucked forward and cried out. "Seventeen, Sir," he groaned, shifting on the bed.

_thwack thwack_

"Are you gonna take advantage of me again?" Spike asked, moving his palm in circles over his cell mate's stinging flesh. "Are you sorry you did it?"

"Nineteen, Sir," Angel gasped. "I'm sorry. I'll never do anythin' like that t' ye again, I swear it..."

Yeah, Spike liked being in charge. He palmed Angel's ass with relish before delivering the final blow.

_th- **wack**_

Angel's back arched and his mouth fell open on a silent cry as his cock spasmed and jerked inside the confines of the cage, and he - didn't come. "Twenty, Sir," he choked on a strangled moan.

 _Pleasure, then,_ Spike thought. He crouched down in front of Angel and untied him. He brought the older man's hands to his mouth and kissed the insides of his wrists in turn, then set his hands down. Then he lifted Angel's head so they were eye-to-eye, leaned in, and kissed him softly. "You alright?" he asked as he released Angel's erection from the constraints of the cock cage.

Angel gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself not to come. He gripped the base of his cock tightly as his balls churned and a few drops of clear fluid dripped from his cockhead onto the sheets. Moaning softly and trembling, his back heaving with the effort it cost him not to come, he bit his lip.

"Hey, no, it's okay," Spike murmured. "Game's over, yeah? It's just you an' me now." He ran a hand through Angel's hair a few times, soothing him. "Want me to take care of you?"

The dark-haired man was beyond fighting Spike or telling him he didn't have to. He nodded jerkily, still squeezing the base of his cock. "Please," he whispered.

"Can you move?" Spike asked, placing a hand on Angel's shoulder. "Here, I'll help you. Jus' lie down on the bed with your ass hangin' over the edge so it doesn't hurt, alright?" He guided Angel onto his back, wincing in sympathy when his ass touched the blankets. "Good," he murmured. He lay down lengthwise on the bed with his feet facing the cell bars, then brushed Angel's hand aside.

Angel had always prided himself on his stamina. He was known for being able to last for hours without losing control. But the moment Spike's lips wrapped around his dick and one of those little silver balls on his tongue rolled across his cockhead, he was done for. He bucked up wildly with a harsh groan and a whimper, spilling into the blond's mouth. "Spike..." he gasped, arching his back.

Spike sucked down Angel's come patiently, rubbing his belly and his left thigh. He licked the older man clean after ward, then kissed his navel and looked up. "Better?" he asked with a smile.

Angel nodded mutely.

"Good. Up with you, I want to put some lotion on you so you don't chafe later." Spike moved up so he was kneeling before Angel, ignoring the insistent throbbing of his own cock.

Angel frowned, furrowing his brow. "Ye havena come yet, _mo rún_? Should do somethin' 'bout that. Ye don't have to - "

Spike cut him off with two fingers against his lips. "I'll come," he said. "I just don't want you hurtin', yeah?"

For a moment, Angel looked at Spike with an odd, soft expression on his face. "You should feel good too," he murmured, nevertheless following Spike's request and moving back onto his hands and knees. "Could always fuck me while ye've got me in this position," he murmured, swaying his ass and looking over his shoulder at the blond.

"First things first," Spike said sternly, picking up the lotion he'd taken from Angel's footlocker and opening it up. He squeezed a bit into his palm, replaced the cap, and rubbed his hands together to warm it. "It'll be cool," he warned, a moment before he lowered his palms to Angel's ass cheeks and started rubbing the lotion in.

Angel jumped, his ass muscles clenching as Spike's lotion-covered hands touched his overheated flesh. He closed his eyes and relaxed, moaning softly as the younger man worked the lotion in carefully, covering every reddened spot. And when Spike's carefully rubbing fingers slipped down his crack and touched his hole, he pretended not to notice.

That is, until Spike did it a second time.

"Ye still want t' fuck me, then?" Angel asked, turning his head to look at Spike again. He pressed back against Spike's fingers with a soft hiss of breath.

"You offerin'?" Spike asked, sliding his fingertips over the older man's hole, and pressing one slightly inside.

Angel nodded. "Only if ye want to," he said.

Spike smiled. "Do you even have to ask?" he questioned, leaning up and kissing Angel's tattoo as he eased his finger further inside. He pushed in past the second knuckle, then pulled back out. In again, crooking his finger and bumping it over Angel's prostate. He was still slick inside from his earlier activities. Spike circled his finger and added a second. "Okay?" he asked, rubbing Angel's lower back.

"Better'n okay," Angel rasped, thrusting back against Spike's fingers. "Hurry," he said. "Want t' feel ye fillin' me." He arched his back and moaned as pleasure thrummed through him, centered on Spike's fingers that continuously rubbed his prostate.

The blond scissored his fingers wide, stretching Angel and preparing him for his cock. He pulled his hand back then, rolling on a condom quickly, then pumping two squirts of lube from the bottle into his palm and slathering it over his shaft. "Nice an' easy, yeah?" he asked as he lined his cock up with Angel's tight hole and pushed forward.

Angel groaned, pushing back against Spike as the blond thrust forward. He stopped with a sigh when Spike's balls rested against his ass, tensing his sphincter when Spike pulled back. He leaned down, fisting his hands in the sheets and pressing his face into a pillow as another loud moan bubbled forth. He squirmed and shifted with Spike's thrusts, and even though he wasn't getting hard again, the pleasure from the blond's shaft stroking his inner channel was nearly overwhelming. "I'm not gonna break," he murmured, "if ye fuck me as hard as I know ye want to."

"This _is_ as hard as I want to fuck you," Spike replied softly, hitching his breath as Angel's ass gripped him tight. "Enough pain for one night, hmm?" He slid his hands up the older man's back, then back down. Then he bent and followed the path of his hands with his tongue.

The dark-haired man's breath hitched in his chest and he murmured softly, rocking back against Spike. Their hips churned together easily, sweat and lube aiding Spike's strokes inside him. He closed his eyes and reached back blindly, finding Spike's hip with one hand and urging him to thrust deeper.

Spike gripped Angel's hips loosely, stroking his cock in and out of the older man's as with long, slow thrusts. "Feels so good inside you," he murmured. "You're so tight an' hot..." His pace quickened slightly, and he panted softly.

Angel could tell that Spike was close when the first gasping moan escaped his lips. "That's it," he urged. "Fill me right up, Spike. Come inside me..." He stroked Spike's hip with his fingers, thrusting back against him, and bit his lip, clenching his sphincter again.

"Fuck," Spike hissed. "So close..." His hands slid all over Angel's back and hips, then down his thighs. "Gonna come..."

Angel shifted, pushing himself up onto his knees, then pushed his thighs together to tighten up for Spike. "Go ahead, then," he whispered. "Go on, I want t' feel ye."

Spike's hands tensed on Angel's hips and he groaned, loud and long, thrusting in as far as he could and emptying himself into the condom. His hips twitched and his cock jumped inside the older man as he shook with the force of his climax. "Ohgodohfuck," he rasped, thrusting a few more times with the last pulses of his jism into the condom. He collapsed onto Angel's back, sticky, sweaty, and sated, face plastered against his shoulder. "That was bloody good," he muttered, lying there for a moment and breathing hard before moving back to his knees and pulling carefully out.

Angel lay down on his belly on the bed with his legs spread and his right forearm under his head. He heard Spike flush the condom, then heard water running as he cleaned himself off. He murmured against the mattress as the blond padded back to the bed, jerking in surprise when a hot, wet washcloth made contact with his lower back. He turned his head to look at Spike, who was dry of sweat and concentrating now on cleaning him up.

"You're sticky," Spike said by way of explanation. "Don't want to find m'self glued to you in the morning." He swiped the washcloth over Angel's skin slowly, not wanting to miss a spot. A dry towel followed the cloth's movements. He washed Angel thoroughly, swiping the cloth down his crack and rubbing it over his slowly contracting asshole a few times before flipping the washcloth over and moving down his legs. When he'd finished with the older man's feet, he moved back to his ass, wiping up the lube and lotion that he'd since expelled. "Turn over," he said. "I'll rinse this out."

Spike stood and walked over to the wash basin. He'd never given another man a spongebath before. What bothered him a bit was how much he liked it. He enjoyed taking care of Angel after they fucked. He liked sleeping in his arms, and kissing him, and touching him. He mentally added pondering his sexuality to his list of things to think about. Besides, enjoying the company of one man didn't necessarily do anything to void his self-proclaimed superstraightness.

Yeah, right. That argument was getting old.

Angel moved to his back, watching Spike at the sink. He closed his eyes and sighed when Spike returned to the bed and rubbed the once again hot washcloth over his chest, down his arms, between his fingers. He sighed again when Spike lifted his cock carefully, encircling it with his washcloth-covered hand, and wiped it clean. The cloth swiped over his balls, under his sac, and down his thighs. Once again, the towel followed.

Spike got off the bed again and hung the towel over the available bar, draping the washcloth over the edge of the sink to dry. He returned to the bed and curled into Angel's side, pulling the blankets over both of them. "There," he said. "Nice an' dry." He leaned up and kissed Angel's chin, his eyes falling closed. "G'nite," he murmured, pressing his face into the older man's chest.

"Goodnight," Angel returned, wrapping his arms around the blond. "Sleep sweet, _mo rún_." He snuggled down into the thin mattress and allowed Spike's slow, even breathing to lull him to sleep.


	7. There Was a Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we delve into Spike's backstory. Mostly, he has sex a lot.

"Ungh... hungh... gnagh..."

"What'd ye like fer Christmas?"

"I... ugh... I don't know, really," Spike panted, sweat beading on his skin. His muscles tensed and relaxed as he continued his repetitive movements. "Why... hunh... why do you ask?"

"Don't rightly know," Angel replied. "Was thinkin maybe... might get you somethin'."

"One ninety-nine... two hundred." After his last sit-up, the blond scooted back and leaned against the side of the bed. He turned and glanced over at his cellmate. "Chocolate," he said.

Angel splashed water on his face one last time and set his razor and shaving cream aside, then picked up a towel and patted his face dry. He took a second towel back to the bed. "Chocolate?" he asked, draping the terrycloth over Spike's shoulders and touching his head once, slowly, in passing. "Ye sure that nothin' more... substantial... strikes yer fancy?"

"I haven't had chocolate since before I was arrested," Spike said as he dried himself off and tugged his sweat-dampened undershirt over his head. "Got everything else on the outside." When he was suitably dry, he stood up and flopped back on the bed with a soft grunt. Then he rolled onto his side and curled around Angel's hip, walking his fingers up the Irishman's arm. "What do _you_ want for Christmas?"

"Oh," Angel said. "Ye don't have to..."

"Liam Angelus Killarney, if I want to buy you a prezzie, I'm gonna buy it. Stop pretendin' like you don't want it." Spike looked up at him and winked. "Now tell me what you'd like."

"Besides yer autobiography, ye mean?" Angel nudged Spike off to the side and lay down, tugging the blond atop him. "Could use some new paper an' mayhap a bit of charcoal." He draped an arm around Spike's waist. "Don't need t' go to any trouble, though."

"It's no trouble," Spike replied, shaking his head. He propped his chin up on the dark-haired man's chest. "My autobiography, eh?"

Angel nodded. "Only if ye'd like to tell me," he said.

Spike tilted his head, pondering it for a moment. "Once upon a time, there was a chap named William. He was quite popular an' good lookin'..."

 

_Ten Years Before..._

"Mister Prescott, are you paying attention?"

The sixteen-year-old boy with sandy hair, pimples, and Coke-bottle glasses, shifted in his seat and snored softly.

"Mister Prescott," the teacher asked again, approaching the student's desk as the class looked on. He leaned in close to the sleeping boy's head. "William!" he shouted.

"What? What?" William asked, sitting up with a jolt and straightening his spectacles, which had been resting askew on his nose. "Oliver Cromwell," he muttered reflexively.

The class tittered in amusement.

"That's excellent, Mister Prescott, but this is human biology, and we're currently discussing the digestive system. Would you care to tell me what the function of the appendix is?" The teacher returned to the front of the room and leaned against his desk.

William fumbled for an answer for a moment, his cheeks suffusing with color as embarrassment flooded him. "The, ah... the appendix, sir?" he stuttered. "The appendix has... has no true function in the, ah, the modern human. But some scientists believe that it provided a means to - to digest bone, in the... in prehistoric times." He sank down in his seat and tried to hide his face with his books.

Two girls in the back row of the class room watched William with undisguised interest. They leaned in and whispered to each other, nodding and smiling, then returned their attention to the teacher before he noticed and called on them. They were the most popular girls in the school, and they were going to make William live up to his full potential. Why? Because they had the power in the school, and they could do it.

After school, the same two girls caught up with William as he was leaving the building. He had no idea what was in store for him.

 

_Present Day_

"Wait, so ye're tellin' me that ye never once worried about havin' a spotty face, or bad breath, an' that the ladies flocked all over you?" Angel asked, rolling them so his legs tangled with the smaller man's and he hovered over him. "I'm havin' trouble believin' ye." He looked into Spike's eyes. "Ye can tell me th' truth if ye'd like. Won't leave the room, I promise ye."

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. "Ruin my fun," he muttered. "I was unpopular, had horrible acne, an' couldn't see for shit. Happy?"

Angel smiled down at him. "Ecstatic, _mo rún_ ," he corrected, kissing him once, twice, then pulling away so Spike could continue his story.

"One day, two of the beautiful chits in the school stopped me on my way out th' door. Told me they'd make me a god - like them." Spike's gaze grew distant and hazy. "They were right."

 

_Ten Years Before_

"You sure I need to wear all of... this?" William asked, looking down at himself, then in the mirror. He raised an eyebrow when he noted the black eyeliner that'd been carefully applied, then up to his hair, bleached blond with a touch of glitter. His eyes fell on his ensemble again. "You can see m'nipples. It's indecent."

One of the girls in the room with him fussed over the hem of his shirt, straightening it and closing a safety pin that had come undone. "You look gorgeous. Now sneer for Lilah so she can put on the rest of your makeup."

William rolled his eyes and sighed, then puckered up as the other girl applied a thin coat of lip color. "I don't hee hi I haf huh do hisch," he said around the lip brush. He waited until Lilah was through with the lip rouge, then moved his mouth around, feeling weird with his lips covered in the cosmetic. "Can't I just go to school wearin' what I normally wear?"

"Please, Will, look at yourself. Nobody will be able to resist you," the other girl, Faith, proclaimed. She tossed her dark brown locks over one shoulder and picked at his shirt again. "And who knew you were hiding such a... _delicious_ body under all those baggy clothes?"

"Finishing touch," Lilah said, handing a white contacts box to William. "Put these in, love." She ran a hand over William's smooth, pimple-free cheek, and smiled, knowing her hard work with Clearsil and Oxy had paid off. "You're a whole new man. Nothing's ever gonna be the same for you again."

"You'll fuck a different girl every weekend," Faith said, running a hand up Spike's thigh and cupping his groin briefly. "If that's your thing." She quirked an eyebrow and winked knowingly, causing William to furrow his brow in confusion. "You're going to be the hottest thing our school has ever seen. We've made you a new man. But... you still need a new name."

"Spike," Lilah said suddenly. "What do you think, Faith?" Lilah combed a hand through Faith's hair and kissed her quickly on the lips, then trailed a finger down William's chest. "It's sexy, it's not too long..."

"Spike," Faith said, brushing Lilah's shoulder-length hair out of the way and then licking her earlobe before leaning over and doing the same to William. "It's perfect."

And so William became a memory.

Spike upheld his girls' expectations to the last detail. He slept with so many different girls, that he lost count after a few months. And when Lilah and Faith saw him off in the airport as he was leaving for college in the US, by dragging him into the bathroom and fucking his brains out, Spike finally believed he was sexy.

 

_Present Day_

Spike was still a bit glazed over, and his breath came in soft pants. Angel frowned, then rested a forearm on either side of his head and kissed him hard, determined to take his mind off the airport threesome.

 

_Five Years Before_

"Fuck, that party was..."

"I know. Best part was when - "

"Alan got up on th' table an' started dancin' around."

"No, no, when he fell off, after."

Spike stumbled down the hallway of his college dorm, his arm around the shoulders of his roommate, Wesley. He tossed his half-empty beer cup in the nearest trash can, then leaned heavily on the other man. "C'n you believe we're gonna be done next week?" he slurred.

"Seems like only yesterday," Wes agreed. "Are you gonna go to Kim's room?"

Spike shook his head at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "She's studyin' for finals," he said. "Luckily, I'm all done, which means I get to spend some quality time with... you. M'best mate."

Wes smiled a little, then shouted as he tripped over an invisible bump in the floor and nearly falling down.

Spike somehow managed to catch his friend around the waist and haul him back up. "Watch out, mate," he said, squinting to focus on the doors as they slowly made their way through the building. "Two-ten, two-twelve... what room are we again?"

"Same one we've been in since first year," Wes said, looking over at Spike and covering his mouth as he belched. "Though I'm having a bit of trouble remembering which that is."

"Two-fourteen..." Spike read, his hand going for the doorknob as he swayed slightly. "Here we are." He opened the door, blinking a few times as he noticed that all his and Wes' stuff had been replaced with very feminine things. His eyes fell on a pair of co-eds gyrating on the bed, the sheets around their waists, then turned back to Wes. "Wrong room," he said, gesturing at the couple.

"Two-sixteen!" Wes exclaimed loudly.

The couple on the bed stopped grinding together for a moment, and the guy turned long enough to grunt, "Fuck off, dickheads," before turning back to his girlfriend and screwing her senseless.

Spike backed slowly out of the room and closed the door, then walked a few steps further down the hall, to their room, a wide grin on his face. "You really missed out, not takin' it," he said to Wes as his roommate looked through his pockets for his keys.

Wesley shook his head and patted his hips, then his back pockets. "Told you, Spike, the last thing I need... a week before graduation is to start taking E again. Do you have your keys?"

The bleached-blond spread his arms wide and leaned against the door. "Search me," he said, looking Wes over. "Why're you always th' graceful drunk, anyway?"

"Gimme your keys," Wes said. "Can't get in without them."

"I said, search me," Spike replied. "Too drunk to look for keys."

"Too _high_ , you mean," the other man corrected, stumbling slightly as he approached Spike. "I'm drunker than you are."

"Are not," Spike countered, sticking his tongue out childishly.

Wes followed the movement of Spike's tongue over full, pink lips, his eyes glazing slightly. "Just don't cry 'rape'," he warned, stepping up to his roommate and starting to pat him down.

He wormed his index fingers into Spike's front pockets, then slid his hands around to the back, patting a few times and feeling a key-shaped lump over his roommate's left ass cheek. "Found it," he stated, wiggling his fingers into Spike's back pocket and nearly moaning aloud at the feel of the denim-covered mound that he was palming. For a brief moment, he wondered what would happen if he came out to his roommate. Then he shook his head, gripped Spike's key and tugged it out, and slid it into the lock.

The door swung abruptly open.

Spike grabbed Wes' shirtfront as he tumbled backwards, hitting the carpet with a thud and a soft grunt. Wes sprawled out on top of him. Spike squirmed underneath his roommate as he regained control of his breathing. Something hard was poking him in the thigh. "Wes, mate? You're uh..."

Wes lifted up a bit, levering himself up with his forearms. His crotch rubbed against Spike's. "Uh... yeah," he mumbled, getting to his feet and closing the door.

"So am I," Spike said.

 

_Present Day_

"I thought ye'd never -- "

"I didn't cum," Spike interjected. "Was too high, or drunk, or maybe just plain scared to shoot. Had to toss off after."

Angel raised himself up so he could look down at his bedmate. "Ye mean 'e didn't even have th' decency to suck ye off?"

"He did," Spike said shortly, hoping the subject would change before he asked Angel why he'd never received a blowjob from him. "We graduated the next week, an' I never saw him again. He hadn't meant t' come out like that, an' I hadn't meant to help him. Morning after was... somethin' else."

"Everyone's fucked someone that they didn't intend to," Angel said. "For me, it was my best friend's brother, when I was in th' eleventh grade. His parents found out, an' they moved to Belfast. Last I heard, Pete -- that's my friend -- owned a store in Belfast, an' his brother'd settled down with another guy a few years older than 'im."

"Why didn't you follow him?" the blond asked.

"He left," the Irishman replied. "Mayhap, if I'd loved 'im, but it was just a casual fuck fer th' both of us."

"Hmm," Spike said, sliding his hands up Angel's back. He shifted underneath his cellmate, noticing the effect that their conversation was having on both of them. "I heard that they do blood tests in th' infirmary. Was thinking maybe we could get tested... been curious as to what it'd be like..."

"Without a condom?" Angel finished.

Spike nodded.

"It's like nothin' ye've ever felt before, _mo rún_. If this is somethin' ye really want t' feel, then we'll get tested, yeah?"

"I want to feel it," Spike replied. "Let's do it."

Angel smiled, releasing a little breath through his nose as he reached out and touched Spike's face. "C'mere."

The blond raised his head, cupping the back of Angel's, and kissed him. His other hand slid up one of Angel's arms and rested on his shoulder, kneading the muscles there as their lips parted and their tongues met. Spreading his thighs slightly so the Irishman could slip a knee between them, he pressed up against Angel, rubbing their groins together.

The loud clearing of a throat caused them to pull back with disappointed groans. They turned their heads toward the cell door, where Riley was standing holding a letter. "Prescott," he said. "I've got a letter for you."

Reluctantly, Angel rolled off the blond and stood to let him up.

Spike got to his feet and headed over to the front of the cell, taking the envelope from the guard, who turned and returned to his post. The handwriting caused Spike to tense and he cleared his throat.

The Irishman saw his cellmate's body stiffen and went to his side, placing a hand on the small of his back and running his thumb over Spike's tattoo. "Everythin' alright?" he asked.

The blond didn't get a chance to answer.

"Spike," Luke called from across the block. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're planning on getting a blood test done. Why don't you let me know when the results are in? I'd enjoy being the first to have you raw."

"Your dick isn't ever goin' anywhere near my ass, you hideous landmass," Spike called back with more confidence than he felt. He fingered his letter for a moment, until a low rumbling noise caused him to whip his head to the side to look at Angel. "Did you just _growl_?" he asked.

Angel's response was to snatch the letter from Spike's hand, toss it aside, then pin the smaller man to the bars of the cell and attack his throat with vicious, biting kisses. His right arm wrapped around the blond's waist while his left hand shoved at the waistband of his pants, finally unbuttoning them and groping the naked flesh beneath them.

Spike gasped, clutching at the bars and tilting his head back, his eyes closing as white-hot pleasure danced through him. Angel had never shown his possessive side before, and as the dark-haired man's teeth scraped lightly down the inside of his arm to catch the pulse point at his wrist in a sucking kiss, he decided he'd make him jealous more often. "Fuck," he grunted as Angel roughly palmed his ass.

The dark-haired man pushed Spike's pants and boxers down further, catching them with his foot and pulling them off one leg altogether. He kicked Spike's legs apart and mouthed each protruding vertebra hotly as he made his way down the blond's spine, tongue swirling and teeth nipping as he grew closer and closer to his destination. "Hold the bars tight," he rasped, spreading Spike's ass cheeks and licking down between them. He pressed on either side of the little hole with his thumbs, watching as it opened for him, then thrust his tongue against it roughly.

"Christ, Angel," Spike groaned, arching his back and hissing in pleasure when his hot, hard cock brushed against the cool metal of the cell bars. His knees buckled, his knuckles turning white with his grip on the bars when Angel's tongue pushed up and inside him, spearing his hole over and over again with fast strokes.

Angel's tongue withdrew, lapping and chewing at the widening sphincter, before plunging inside again and gathering the musky taste of Spike. He moaned against Spike's ass, causing the blond to tremble. One of his hands flew to his waistband, unfastening his pants. He shoved them down, below his ass, and continued to drive Spike wild.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Spike chanted mindlessly as he heard the snap of a condom being rolled into place. He pressed his ass back against Angel's face, needing more. His pucker clenched and relaxed spasmodically as Angel pushed more of his saliva inside, getting him wet and ready. " _Please_ , Angel..."

He whimpered when Angel pulled his mouth away.

The whimper turned into a raspy scream of pleasure as Angel got to his feet, pulled Spike's ass back against him, and shoved his cock inside to the hilt in one stroke. Without waiting for Spike to adjust, Angel began a hard, fast rhythm, his hips snapping against the blond's ass. He returned his attention to Spike's throat, sucking and licking, marking him.

Spike threw his head back against Angel's shoulder, moaning and panting, his body heaving with lust. He found his cock with one hand, starting to stroke it, but Angel slapped his hand away and replaced it with his own. The blond's hand returned to the bars, gripping them tightly as Angel fucked him with thrusts so hard that his entire body jerked every time.

Angel raised his head, finding Luke with a deadly glare. "Ye're mine," he murmured in Spike's ear. "He'll... never... touch you." He offered Luke a two-fingered salute, then sucked down on Spike's throat and started pulling on his cock faster. "Nobody... else." Angel didn't know if he meant Luke, or if he meant Spike's one-night stand in college. All he knew was that he was going to fuck Spike so hard he'd never, _never_ think about fucking another man.

The blond shuddered and groaned as he entered sensory overload from Angel's words. "Fuck fuck fuck," he gasped, arching his back and writhing in Angel's grip. The possessiveness of his cell mate drove him wild. The new angle of Angel's cock inside him as they shifted, drove him over the edge. " _Angel_!" he rasped, trembling as he shot into the Irishman's hand.

The dark-haired man caught Spike's hot cum in his palm, thrusting mindlessly now. His semen-covered hand pressed against Spike's belly, slipping and sliding over the hairless skin as he jerked his hips back and forth arhythmically, his balls slapping against the lower curve of Spike's ass. "Ye're... mine..." he muttered again, thrusting one last time before shoving all the way inside and releasing a torrent of cum into the condom.

Angel pulled out, then thrust two fingers inside Spike, massaging his inner muscles as they tensed and spasmed. He slipped off the used condom, kissing Spike's ear, then withdrew altogether.

Spike remained at the bars, holding them tight until he was confident that he could walk without his knees buckling. He stumbled over to the sink and cleaned up. "That was hot," he rasped, his voice gritty and rough. He bent down and pulled his pants back on, buckling them up.

"Mmm," Angel replied. "I think I might've devolved to a caveman fer a moment there." He swabbed at his semisoft cock with the edge of a towel, then fastened his own pants.

"I didn't mind," the blond said, walking to the bed and flopping down. Paper crinkled beneath him. "Oh," he said. "My letter." He pulled it out from under himself and tore it open, scanning it. His face paled.

"What is it?" the Irishman asked, returning to the bed as well. He tried to peer over Spike's shoulder at the letter, but Spike folded it and jammed it back in the envelope.

"It's Buffy," Spike said.

"Yer fiancée?"

He nodded. "She's coming to pay a conjugal visit."


	8. Extended Scene: The Spike/Wesley Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At several readers' request, I present the Spike/Wesley sex to which the previous chapter alluded.

"Fuck, that party was..."

"I know. Best part was when - "

"Alan got up on th' table an' started dancin' around."

"No, no, when he fell off, after."

Spike stumbled down the hallway of his college dorm, his arm around the shoulders of his roommate, Wesley. He tossed his half-empty beer cup in the nearest trash can, then leaned heavily on the other man. "C'n you believe we're gonna be done next week?" he slurred.

"Seems like only yesterday," Wes agreed. "Are you gonna go to Kim's room?"

Spike shook his head at the mention of his girlfriend's name. "She's studyin' for finals," he said. "Luckily, I'm all done, which means I get to spend some quality time with... you. M'best mate."

Wes smiled a little, then yelped as he tripped over an invisible bump in the floor nearly falling down.

Spike somehow managed to catch his friend around the waist and haul him back up. "Watch out, mate," he said, squinting to focus on the doors as they slowly made their way through the building. "Two-ten, two-twelve... what room are we again?"

"Same one we've been in since first year," Wes said, looking over at Spike and covering his mouth as he belched. "Though I'm having a bit of trouble remembering which that is."

"Two-fourteen..." Spike read, his hand going for the doorknob as he swayed slightly. "Here we are." He opened the door, blinking a few times as he noticed that all his and Wes' stuff had been replaced with very feminine things. His eyes fell on a pair of co-eds gyrating on the bed, the sheets around their waists, then turned back to Wes. "Wrong room," he said, gesturing at the couple.

"Two-sixteen!" Wes exclaimed loudly.

The couple on the bed stopped grinding together for a moment, and the guy turned long enough to grunt, "Fuck off, dickheads," before turning back to his girlfriend and screwing her senseless.

Spike backed slowly out of the room and closed the door, then walked a few steps further down the hall, to their room, a wide grin on his face. "You really missed out, not takin' it," he said to Wes as his roommate looked through his pockets for his keys.

Wesley shook his head and patted his hips, then his back pockets. "Told you, Spike, the last thing I need... a week before graduation is to start taking E again. Do you have your keys?"

The bleached-blond spread his arms wide and leaned against the door. "Search me," he said, looking Wes over. "Why're you always th' graceful drunk, anyway?"

"Gimme your keys," Wes said. "Can't get in without them."

"I said, search me," Spike replied. "Too drunk to look for keys."

"Too _high_ , you mean," the other man corrected, stumbling slightly as he approached Spike. "I'm drunker than you are."

"Are not," Spike countered, sticking his tongue out childishly.

Wes followed the movement of Spike's tongue over full, pink lips, his eyes glazing slightly. "Just don't cry 'rape'," he warned, stepping up to his roommate and starting to pat him down.

He wormed his index fingers into Spike's front pockets, then slid his hands around to the back, patting a few times and feeling a key-shaped lump over his roommate's left ass cheek. "Found it," he stated, wiggling his fingers into Spike's back pocket and nearly moaning aloud at the feel of the denim-covered mound that he was palming. For a brief moment, he wondered what would happen if he came out to his roommate. Then he shook his head, gripped Spike's key and tugged it out, and slid it into the lock.

The door swung abruptly open.

Spike grabbed Wes' shirtfront as he tumbled backwards, hitting the carpet with a thud and a soft grunt. Wes sprawled out on top of him. Spike squirmed underneath his roommate as he regained control of his breathing. Something hard was poking him in the thigh. "Wes, mate? You're uh..."

Wes lifted up a bit, levering himself up with his forearms. His crotch rubbed against Spike's. "Uh... yeah," he mumbled, getting to his feet and closing the door.

"So am I," Spike said.

With a bout of self-confidence he hadn't realized he possessed, Wes looked Spike straight in the eye and said, "Maybe we should take care of that." Then, before his roommate could react, Wes stepped forward, slid a hand around the back of Spike's neck, and tugged him in for a heated kiss.

Spike's hands waved in the air for a moment before coming around and clutching at Wes' back as he tilted his head a bit and returned the kiss. He found himself being backed toward Wes' bed as a tongue slid across his lower lip, then darted inside his mouth. His shirt wound up on the floor, though he couldn't tell whether he'd removed it, or Wes. He pushed the back of Wes' shirt up, digging his fingers in, yanking his mouth away and gasping for breath as he pulled the garment over his roommate's head and tossed it aside.

Wes gave Spike a little shove, sending him back onto his bed. He climbed atop the other man and moved in to kiss him again, only to be halted by a hand on his chest.

"Wait," Spike said breathlessly. "I, uh... I've never done this before." He motioned a bit between the two of them as emphasis.

"Don't worry about that," Wes replied. "I'll show you what to do." Then he was kissing Spike again, fumbling with the buttons of the blond's jeans, shoving them down a bit. He pressed hot kisses to the side of Spike's jaw, then against his throat, moaning softly when Spike did the same.

Spike toed off his shoes as his hands flew over Wes' back in his drug-induced haze. He pushed at the waistband of the darker-haired man's pants and grunted when they wouldn't budge. The drugs made the fact that his bed partner was male an insignificant part of the experience. He just knew that he wanted Wes' pants off. And he told him so.

"Hold on," Wes replied, nodding against Spike's throat and getting up so he could take off the rest of his clothes. They watched each other as they stripped off, and then Wes moved back to the bed, falling on top of Spike with a sharp slap of flesh against flesh as their bodies connected. One of his hands clasped his roommate's ass and the other slid between their bodies to wrap around the blond's cock. He watched Spike's face as he started jacking him off, mesmerized as his eyes closed and his neck arched, his lips parting on a moan.

"Fuck, Wes," Spike rasped, instinctively wrapping his legs around the other man's thighs in an effort to get closer. He pushed against Wesley's arms until the dark-haired man fell against his chest. "I want..." he arched his back, pressing the back of his head into the pillow again.

"What?" Wes asked, sucking on Spike's throat as he continued to stroke him and grind his own cock against his roommate's hip. "What do you want?" he prompted.

"I want..." he swallowed spasmodically. "Want you to fuck me," he whispered hoarsely, licking his lips. His eyes opened, drugs and lust causing the blue to darken to near-black. He cleared his throat and said again, "Fuck me, Wes."

Wes pushed up on his elbows again. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," Spike rasped. "But do it quick, before I sober up an' change my mind."

They kissed again, and then Wes leaned over, opening the top drawer of his nightstand. He fumbled around in it for a moment, finally pulling out a condom and a tube of lube. "Lift your legs," he instructed, tearing open the condom and slipping it on. He opened the lube, waiting for Spike to pull his legs up, then squeezed some of the slick gel onto his fingers and probed at Spike's tight sphincter with his fingertips.

Spike tensed, then relaxed, gasping as Wes' fingers pressed against his asshole, then pushed inside slowly. He winced as his hole stretched, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Squirming slightly as his roommate finger-fucked him, he closed his eyes again. When Wes' fingers withdrew and he heard another slick sound, he wadded up the sheets beneath his hands, took one last deep breath, and then grunted in pain as Wes' cockhead pinched inside him. "Ah... bloody 'ell," he rasped.

"Shh," Wes soothed. "Just stay still for a minute." He bent down and kissed Spike, folding the blond in half as Spike's legs slid over his shoulders. "Ready?" he asked when he pulled away.

Spike nodded, his grip tightening on the bedsheets as Wes pulled back, then thrust forward again. "Christ," he gasped as his ass clenched around Wes' shaft, stretching and getting used to the invasion.

"God, you're so tight," Wes moaned, slowly building up a rhythm. "I've wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you..." He circled his hips against Spike's, and pulled back, thrusting forward again.

It might've been the alcohol, but whatever it was, Wes' thrusts sped up too soon for Spike to properly enjoy his introduction to gay sex. The pain had dulled, at any rate, by the time that Wes jerked and shuddered above the blond. "Mmm," Spike moaned obligingly.

"You're so good," Wes muttered, pulling out of Spike and not noticing the twinge of pain on his drunken roommate's face.

Spike lowered his legs with a sigh and stared down at his hard dick. "Oh, don't look at me like that," he grumbled, grabbing it and starting to jack off.

Wesley tossed the tied-off condom in the trash, then turned back to Spike. "Let me give you a hand with that," he offered, leaning down and licking along the head of Spike's cock.

Now _this_ was more like it. Wes' mouth was warm, and he sucked and licked every part of Spike's shaft before taking it into his mouth to the root. "Yeah," he muttered, his hand coming to rest on the back of Wes' head. His back arched and he licked his lips.

Wes diligently sucked Spike's cock, rolling his tongue along the underside and cupping the blond's balls, squeezing them gently. He moaned as a bit of precum leaked out onto his tongue.

Spike decided there were bonuses to getting sucked off by someone else who had a dick. His eyes rolled back as Wes' tongue fluttered along the slit in his cockhead, and he groaned softly. "Wes," he gasped, his hips twitching and his toes curling.

Wes pulled off Spike's cock long enough to smile reassuringly at him and say, "I want to taste you," before plunging back down again.

For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of Spike's rough pants of pleasure, and then his breath hitched as he spilled into Wes' mouth and collapsed.

Wes swallowed Spike's salty cum, then crawled up the bed and flopped over onto his back. "You taste good," he said matter-of-factly, drunk on Spike and alcohol.

Spike laughed softly. "Thanks," he said, and promptly blacked out.

The next morning, feeling like seven shades of hell, Spike awoke to realize he was in bed, naked, with his roommate who was _also naked_. While tamping down a mini nervous breakdown he eased out of bed, fumbled for his boxers, and climbed into his own bed to feign sleep. After graduation, he never spoke to Wes again.


	9. Don We Now our Gay Apparel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming, and so is Spike. And valley girl!Buffy. Well, she's coming to the prison, anyway...
> 
> Did I mention that this Buffy is valley girl!Buffy? Because she is.

The clanking of handcuffs and the rustling of coarse fabric whispered across the cellblock. Facing forward and staring blankly ahead, the prisoners seemed to blend into each other, their individual features becoming nondescript. Eight armed guards paced back and forth among the ranks, their boot heels adding staccato beats to the rustling and rattling and creating an abstract, unintentional avant-garde rhythm.

"How often does this happen?" Spike whispered, _sotto voce_.

"Every six months or so," Angel whispered in reply, nudging Spike forward when the line of prisoners moved. "Don't worry, ye'll barely feel a thing."

"Have I ever mentioned that I'm petrified of needles?" Spike asked as the line moved forward again and he found himself standing just outside the doorway of the cellblock's infirmary.

"I'll hold yer hand if ye want me to," the dark-haired man offered, huffing a soft breath of a laugh.

Spike turned around and glared at him, then faced forward again. "I can handle one little blood test," he grumbled. Then suddenly he was next up for the needle, and Angel had to bodily move him out of the doorway and toward the doctor.

"Name?" the doctor asked, running a hand through his spiked-up red hair and picking up a clipboard.

"William Prescott," Spike said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, noticing that he was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"The computer hacker," the doctor said. "I was a big fan of your work." He offered a small smile, then checked Spike's name off on the clipboard and pulled on a fresh pair of rubber gloves. "Have a seat, Spike. This will only take a minute."

Spike's brow furrowed. "What's your handle?" he asked in a low voice as he sat on the stool offered to him.

"Oz," the doctor said simply. "But you can call me Dr. Osbourne."

Meaning, of course, if Spike mentioned a single word about the good doctor being a fellow hacker, he'd never get treatment in the infirmary again. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Osbourne," Spike said with a smirk. He offered his arm to the diminutive man, watching as an alcohol swab wiped over his skin.

Then came the needle, and Spike had to look away before he passed out. He closed his eyes as it slid in, gritting his teeth against the slight sucking sensation when it withdrew. Only when a folded piece of gauze and a bandage were put over the hole did he dare look. Hmm. Not bad. At least he wasn't bleeding. "Thanks, mate."

"If there are any anomalies in your blood, I'll let you know," Oz said.

Spike got off the stool and followed the waiting guard back to his cell. He rubbed the bandage absentmindedly, then rolled his sleeve down, stepping inside the cell and falling backward on the bed with a grunt. Something hard poked him in the back, and he awkwardly reached underneath himself and grasped the plug that'd caused him so many hours of pleasure and pain in the first two weeks of his incarceration. He turned it over in his hands, then sat up and picked up the black satin thong that he'd worn with it.

He snorted a laugh. "Lovely hint, mate," he muttered with a shake of his head and a smile. He set both items aside and lay down again, stacking his hands beneath his head.

Moments later, Angel stepped into the cell and vaulted onto the bed, managing to land on top of Spike, between his thighs. "How's yer wound?" he asked, picking up the blond's arm.

"Wound-like," Spike said, frowning when Angel prodded the gauze lump. "Yours?"

Angel rolled off Spike and flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh, flinging his arms out. "I'll live," he said. Then he sat up and picked up the thong and butt plug.

"Found those earlier," Spike said. "I don't suppose you want me to re-enact the first two weeks in 'ere, do you?"

"I was savin' these for later," Angel replied. "But it _is_ Christmas..."

"An' what a lovely holiday it is," the blond snarked. "We get jabbed by needles an' shoved back into our cells. What's next, mistletoe in the showers?" He shuddered a little.

Angel swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached underneath, pulling out a medium-sized, plain box. "Next, I give ye yer present," he said, setting the box on Spike's belly.

Spike picked the package up and turned it over in his hands as he sat up, cross-legged, on the bed. He eyed it closely.

"Well, open it," the Irishman urged, looking a little nervous. He bit his lip lightly as Spike pried the lid off.

The top of the box fell from Spike's fingers as he stared down at the treasure inside. "You got me Godiva chocolate," he whispered, touching the gold foil reverently.

Angel let out a tiny breath of relief, watching as Spike picked up a piece of chocolate and unwrapped it, then shoved the whole thing into his mouth. The blond's moan went straight to Angel's cock. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, grunting in surprise when Spike's hand wrapped around the back of his neck and yanked him in for a sticky-sweet, chocolate-laced kiss.

"You got me Godiva," Spike said again when they parted. Then he noticed chocolate all around Angel's mouth and stifled a laugh, leaning in instead to lick it up daintily. "If you get me Godiva every Christmas I'm in here, I'll be your bitch _forever_."

The Irishman smiled. "Look underneath th' chocolate," he said, ducking his head a little.

"No, open yours first," Spike replied, setting the box from Angel down and pulling a package out from under the bed. It'd arrived two days ago, but he hadn't opened it, knowing full well what was inside. He handed it to Angel, who pulled a pencil from his pocket and stabbed through the packing tape that held the box shut.

"Foam snakes aren't gonna pop out at me when I open this, are they?" Angel asked as he poked through the last bit of tape.

Spike shook his head and ate another piece of chocolate.

The dark-haired man pulled back the box top and peered inside. His mouth dropped open in surprise, his eyes wide.

Spike bit his lip and looked down at his lap. Maybe he'd gone overboard.

"Typical," Angel said when he found his voice. "I ask for some charcoal an' a new sketchbook, an' he buys me the entire store." He ran his fingers across the art supplies that filled the box to the brim. "Thank ye, _mo rún_ ," he said, turning and touching Spike's face briefly.

"One of these days, I'm gonna find out what that means in English," Spike warned. "You're welcome."

"Look in the bottom of yers," Angel said again. "There's more."

Spike lifted the loose, foil-wrapped confections out of the way and uncovered, "Chocolate flavored body paint?"

 

The pink VW New Beetle throbbed to the beat of some perky pop song as it cruised down the highway toward the prison. A petite blond woman, nodding her head and singing off-key to the music, shifted into fifth gear, adjusted her sunglasses, and blew a large, pink, watermelon Bubblicious bubble.

She was already imagining the look on Spike's face when he saw her.

 _God_ , she was excited to see him again.

 

Spike arched and moaned, grinding his silk-covered cock against Angel's leg as the Irishman licked a masterpiece off his left nipple. Angel lifted his head and smiled, then bit down on Spike's nipple and sucked the remaining body paint off his skin. "Please," he moaned when he felt Angel retreat.

"Ye know what I want to see," Angel murmured, trailing the tips of his left middle and index fingers over Spike's ridged abdomen, tracing the musculature and dipping into his navel. He pulled back the black silk thong, and rubbed his thumb over the head of Spike's cock.

"Mmnhh, Angel," Spike rasped, moaning in appreciation. He closed his eyes and slid a hand behind his head as Angel drew the thong further down. His abs twitched when he felt the wet of body paint sliding across his shaved groin. His eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head to see a miniature, upside-down Mona Lisa forming just above his cock. "Only you could make a masterpiece into somethin' dirty," he chuckled.

Angel shook his head and lowered his mouth to the painted skin, licking it up. Then he got up and walked across the cell, picking some things up at the sink.

"Angel?" Spike asked, his brow furrowing.

"Someone needs a shave," Angel said, returning to the bed with a straight razor and shaving cream.

The blond looked at the items in his cellmate's hands with trepidation. "You're going to - "

The Irishman nodded once. "Ye should probably take the edge off, first," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling the thong off Spike's legs. He set it aside and pressed a thumb between the blond's thighs, rubbing his perineum before trailing his hand down and over the base of the dormant plug in his ass. "Would ye like to do the honors?" he asked as he picked up the remote control, offering it to Spike.

"No," Spike replied. He covered Angel's hand with his own, pushing the plug deeper. "You do it. I like it when you do it." Truth was, he was afraid he'd shut it off when the vibrations became unbearable.

Angel pressed a button on the remote and Spike tensed, then relaxed into the plug's rhythmic throbbing. "Touch yerself," he murmured, creeping around the bed and kneeling on the floor at the head, then leaning over Spike with a forearm on either side of him. He lowered his head.

Spike's response was a moan as the vibrations sped up. He arched his neck, his lips brushing Angel's in a soft, upside-down kiss.

Following Spike's mouth as his head lowered to the pillow once more, Angel deepened the kiss, nipping at Spike's full lower lip before sucking it into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. He still tasted of chocolate. Angel's teeth sank lightly into the blond's lip, then released it and felt it snap back. "I need to find the taste of ye," he murmured, thrusting his tongue in deep and probing Spike's mouth, gathering up flavors of chocolate and metal and man.

The blond slid a hand down his belly, cupping his balls and then encircling his dick with forefinger and thumb and pulling up slowly. He gasped against Angel's lips. "Faster," he rasped.

Angel flipped a switch on the remote, rubbing his hands over Spike's shoulders when the smaller man arched and shuddered from the increased vibrations. "Are ye close?" he asked, kissing Spike's mouth, his chin, his Adam's apple.

Spike nodded, nuzzling the hollow of Angel's throat with his lips. "Help me?" he asked, his breath hitching as precum rolled down the shaft of his cock and over his hand.

"Mm," Angel replied. His fingertips trailed over Spike's collarbone as his lips found the blond's earlobe. He sucked the soft flesh into his mouth, worried it with his teeth, wetted it with his tongue. The moment his fingers found Spike's nipples, he bit down a bit harder on his ear.

Spike gasped and arched off the mattress with a cry of surprised pleasure, his cock erupting over his hand and his belly.

Angel kissed him once more, then shut off the plug. He got off his knees and walked to the sink to get a washcloth. He moistened it with warm water, then wrung it out and returned to Spike's side to clean him off thoroughly.

The blond relaxed, practically melting into the bed as Angel removed all traces of his recent climax from his body. Then he felt the cool foam of shaving cream spreading over his groin, and he tensed.

"Easy," Angel soothed. "I won't hurt ye. I've done it to m'self before." He rubbed Spike's belly in calming, circular motions, urging him to settle down into the bed again.

The first scrape of the straight razor across his flesh caused Spike to jump.

"Shit!" Angel hissed, jerking the blade back. "Calm down. I'm workin' around a lot of important bits here. Lie still." He lowered the razorblade to Spike's skin again, making quick work of the area above his cock and his inner thighs. He pulled on Spike's cock, allowing it to harden in his palm before he shaved around the base of it.

The light stubble on Spike's balls was next, and Angel couldn't help but roll the lightly pulsing orbs between his fingers as he carefully removed all hair from his sac.

Spike murmured softly in appreciation.

"Spread your legs," Angel urged, his fingers already finding the base of the plug and pulling on it.

The blond's head lolled from side to side as Angel worked the plug out of his ass and massaged the stretched hole with light touches of his fingertips. He felt the razor on his inner thighs, his perineum, but he was too caught up in the gentle touches of Angel's hands to notice as the blade made its way toward his hole.

Angel nudged Spike's thigh. "Lift your legs, _mo rún_."

Spike pulled his knees to his chest and sighed when Angel's left hand smoothed over his ass, spreading his cheeks wide as his right hand guided the razor down between them, catching any stray hairs. Then the moist cloth was back, cleaning off the remaining shaving cream.

The Irishman stared for a moment at his handiwork.

Spike arched clear off the bed when Angel's tongue shoved inside his ass, thrust twice, then withdrew. He lifted his head and looked pleadingly at the dark-haired man. "Don't stop," he half-whimpered.

"Turn over," Angel said, "an' I won't."

Obliging his cellmate, Spike rolled to his stomach, spreading his legs and getting comfortable. He hugged the pillow and sighed as Angel blew moist air over his hole, following the breath with the flickering of tongue and the caressing of lips.

 

"Ooh bay-beh bay-beh, how was I supposed to know-ah..."

Britney Spears' early work throbbed through the Beetle. The driver turned up the stereo. Thirty miles until she brought some sunshine into her honey-bunny's life - because God knew he'd need it after all these long, lonely weeks in jail. She made the empathy noise just thinking about it.

 

"Harder!" Spike demanded, shoving his ass up against Angel's crotch. His fingers dug into the blanket and he turned his face into the pillow to muffle a harsh groan. "Fuck me!"

Angel gripped Spike's waist, yanking him back into each snap of his hips. He drove his cock in and out at an unforgiving pace. One of his hands smoothed over the small, blue-black griffon on Spike's lower back. "Hard enough?" he grunted, pulling nearly all the way out and then jabbing at Spike's prostate in short, shallow thrusts.

"Never," Spike rasped. He licked his palm and reached down, stroking his cock. He arched his back and raised his head.

The Irishman draped himself over Spike's back, continuing to rock him steadily with each thrust. His lips latched onto the blond's neck, biting and sucking over a pulse point. The flesh beneath his mouth grew red and warm.

Spike turned his head and met Angel's mouth in a sideways kiss, the little silver balls on his tongue dragging across the dark-haired man's lips. "I wish we knew if we were clean," he murmured huskily, thrusting back against Angel. "Wish I could feel you come deep inside me..."

Angel groaned and attacked Spike's neck again, finding the same tender spot with his teeth and sucking down hard. "Ye'll make me come before I'm ready," he said, finding Spike's cock and brushing the blond's hand out of the way.

Spike knew what that meant. He'd be coming first.

The Irishman fisted the blond's cock with a firm grip, his hand flying back and forth over the shaft. He mouthed Spike's shoulder, his throat. He could feel the blond trembling beneath him, hear his harsh breaths rushing in and out. His tongue flicked at Spike's earlobe. " _Tá grá agam duit, mo mhíle stór_ ," he whispered.

With a raspy moan, Spike came.

Angel manipulated Spike's pliant, spent body, kneeing his legs further apart and rolling his hips up. He planted his palms on the blond's upper thighs and fucked him hard, his eyes rolling back as his balls drew up. He collapsed forward, onto Spike's back, as his cock throbbed and jerked inside the blond's ass. "Never better," he murmured against Spike's sweaty neck, the words muffled by the blond's skin.

Spike waited until Angel had pulled out, then flipped onto his back. "Bloody Mick," he mumbled, his voice low and his smile satisfied. "You _know_ what all your fancy Gaelic-talk does to me..."

"Same as yer little whimpers do to me, I reckon," Angel said, covering Spike's smile with his own. They kissed briefly, and then Angel rolled off one side of the bed while Spike rolled off the other, to get cleaned up and dressed. "Bend over," the dark-haired man said, nudging Spike with his hip.

The Englishman faked surprise. "Again?" he asked, leaning over the sink as Angel cleaned away the lube residue left on his skin. He stood up and yelped when Angel slapped his ass lightly. "Oi!" he huffed. He tugged on his boxers and his pants, leaving the fly unbuttoned as he sat down on the bed and put on his shoes and socks.

Angel ran some water through his hair, then put on his clothes and took a seat at the end of the bed, lifting his new art supplies from the box and looking them over. "Must've cost a fortune," he murmured.

"Don't worry about it," Spike replied. "Independently wealthy, remember?"

A tapping on the bars at the front of the cell caught their attention. Officer Finn stood at the door. "Prescott," he said. "You've got a visitor."

Spike looked suitably horrified as he put on his shirt and exited the cell.

 

"Spikey!"

Spike cringed. He walked into the privacy cell and managed a smile. "Buffy-luv, it's been ages. Did you miss me?"

105 pounds of bubbly blond excitement launched themselves at him. "God, have they been feeding you here?" she asked as she hugged him tightly enough to cut off some of his airflow. She kissed him full on the lips.

He managed to remember that he had a pole shoved through his tongue, and kept his mouth closed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pulling away.

"Nothing," Spike replied. He smiled again to placate her.

She frowned. "Then why won't you kiss me like you always do? Don't you want me anymore?"

"Of course I - " _Tá grá agam duit, mo mhíle stór_. " - want you, baby."

"Of course you do," she said with a smug little smile, kissing him again. She palmed his ass, squeezing it firmly.

Spike winced, hoping she wouldn't notice. "Luv, maybe we should - "

Buffy flashed a brilliant smile and pressed a finger to his lips. "D'you want to see what I bought at Victoria's Secret last weekend?"

"Love to," Spike said, because it was what she expected. He couldn't very well run away screaming, even though he damn well wanted to. He sat down on the bed, noting that it was far more comfortable than the deathtraps the inmates got to sleep on.

She took off her coat, beginning an impromptu striptease. She was every bit as lovely as he remembered her to be.

The only problem was, she didn't do a _thing_ for him.

 

"So the little woman's off with his little woman, I hear," Adam drawled as he and Angel got dressed after their showers.

Angel stiffened, but said nothing, instead buttoning up his shirt and then sitting down on the bench to tie his shoes.

Adam sat down next to him, rubbing a towel through his hair. "Just think, any minute now, he'll be fucking her. I bet he won't want to go back to dick after that. Even if it's your dick."

" _Póg mo thóin,_ " the Irishman said softly as he tied his left shoe. He stood up and stretched.

"Do you really think he'll let you fuck him again after today?" the other man asked.

Angel turned to Adam. "Shut your mouth," he said, slipping into his fake American accent. "Stop talking about things you don't understand."

"Oh, I _understand_ plenty," Adam sneered. "I understand that your pretty little bitch isn't going to want you. Not after he gets a taste of pussy ag - " His head snapped to the side from the force of Angel's punch.

"I _said_ shut up," Angel said, his tone belying his emotions.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Adam asked, wiping blood away from his lip with the back of his hand. "Guess it hurts to know that your free _ride_ , so to speak, is coming to an end."

"Would you shut up already?" Angel demanded, backhanding the other man. A bright spray of blood burst from Adam's split lip. "You don't know _anything_ about me."

That was when Adam hit back.

Angel spun into the lockers with the force of the blow, his shoulder striking the metal painfully. "I know enough," Adam said, lashing out again.

The dark-haired man delivered a strong punch to Adam's gut. "You know nothing," he spat, driving his knee into the other man's face.

Adam tackled him about the midsection, bringing him down hard against the wooden bench. "I know that you set everything up so he'd fall right into your lap, just like you've done with every other available trick that came into this place."

"Christ, are you still bitter about Mark?" Angel snarled, head-butting Adam. He threw the other man off him and scrambled to his feet. "It was three years ago."

"And I wanted him," Adam said, punching Angel in the face.

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

Both combatants, battered and bloody, looked toward the doorway.

 

"Spike? _Touch_ me," Buffy said, gyrating closer to him.

Spike closed his eyes and placed a hand on Buffy's breast.

 

"I don't want to hear about who started it, or why you were fighting," Officer Finn said, pacing the length of the lockers. He'd sat an inmate down on either end of the bench and was tapping his nightstick against the palm of his hand. "You _know_ the rules about fighting on the block."

Angel looked down at his abraded knuckles. Adam stared straight ahead.

"Normally, both of you would get transferred to different cell blocks." The statement was punctuated by a hard smack of the nightstick against the middle of the bench.

Adam flinched. Angel remained relaxed.

"However, given that neither of you have _ever_ acted up like this before, and that you won't do it again, I'm _sure_ , I think I can be more lenient with you." The guard stopped pacing and turned, leaning against the row of lockers.

Angel glanced up at him, then examined his hands some more. Adam bit his lip.

"Barring any complaints from the warden for my leniency, I think I can safely congratulate the two of you." Another smack of nightstick on bench. "You've just earned yourselves a week in solitary."

 

Buffy's fingers unfastened Spike's fly and lowered the zipper. She slipped her hand into his pants, massaging him through his boxers. "Not hard for me?" she asked. "I'll have to fix that."

Spike bit his lip and wished he were somewhere else. He braced himself as Buffy's fingers wiggled down beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. His eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, stopping short when she felt nothing but naked skin beneath his underwear. "What the hell is this? Is there something going on, Spike?" She withdrew her hand. "God, I knew that when you came here, you might get - oh, I think I'm going to be sick. There's a big, hairy, _ugly_ guy _raping you on a regular basis_ , isn't there?"

Spike opened one eye.

"I have to get you out of here. You're not safe - it - I... I can't believe that something like this is happening to you, baby. God, you must feel _horrible_ about yourself..."

"Yeah, horrible," Spike echoed. He wondered when Buffy had become such a drama queen.

Her hands fluttered about, and her face was drawn. "That sick fuck. Does he hurt you?"

 _That_ was crossing the line. Angel would _never_ hurt him - he knew it. Spike saw red. "Only when I ask him to," he said.

"My poor Spikey - what?" Buffy skidded to a stop, whirling around to look at Spike.

"I said, he only hurts me when I ask him to. Sometimes, if I beg really nice for him, he'll tie me up and spank me. He got me a tattoo, to match his, and you should hear the way he sounds when I'm sucking him off with my new tongue ring." He got to his feet. "Do you know, he says he's never fucked an ass as hot and tight as mine is? And I can't go a day without feeling his cock up it."

"Stop, you - you're not making any sense," Buffy said, holding up a hand.

A slow smile spread on Spike's face. "Last week, he fucked me so hard that I couldn't stand up for three hours afterward. He can make me come until I pass out, screaming for more. He likes to draw me when I'm naked, fucking myself with a dildo. He calls me _mo rún_ and I'm pretty sure that means he loves me."

"Stop," she said again. "Please."

"I could talk for hours about what it's like when he rims me. But I won't, because honestly, I'd rather have the real thing. Have a nice life, Buffy." He walked toward the door.

Buffy turned him around and slapped him. "You can't dump me! I'm supposed to dump you!"

"Too late, luv." He smirked and walked out.

His euphoria came to a screeching halt when he returned to the cell to find Angel missing and Officer Finn waiting for him. "Prescott?" the guard asked as he closed the cell door behind Spike.

"Yeah?"

"Angel got in a fight. He's been sent to solitary confinement. Thought you should know." The guard turned and left.

 

"I heard that Adam started it," Jenna said, soaping up her breasts and rinsing them off. "He was itching for a fight, and Angel was a prime target."

"Adam wouldn't do something like - okay, maybe he would. But why would he?" Andrew asked, washing his hair vigorously.

"Because it's bloody boring in here if you don't liven things up a bit?" Spike suggested. He rinsed off and stood under the spray for a moment, relaxing. "My guess is that Adam was shootin' off his gob about something Angel really didn't want to talk about."

"What makes you think that?" Xander asked. He scrubbed himself with his bar of soap.

Spike shook his head, sending droplets of water flying off his hair. "Have you ever seen Angel get violent without a good cause?"

"Point," Xander conceded. "I wonder what it was that set him off..."

"I don't care to know. Whatever it was, it's a touchy subject for him, and if I want to stay under his protection, I'm gonna keep my mouth shut." He closed his eyes and let the water cascade over him. "Except when I'm blowing him, of course."

"I _like_ a guy who isn't afraid to stand up for what he believes in," Jenna said.

"You like any guy who doesn't make you take hormones," Spike retorted. He walked out of the showers and into the dressing room, plucking up a towel along the way. He sluiced the water off his face with one hand as he wrapped the terrycloth around his waist with the other.

"Rumor has it that you'll be needing new protection, now that Angel's in solitary." Luke stepped out from behind a row of lockers.

Spike swallowed, his eyes widening somewhat. "Rumor's wrong," he said. "I'll take care of myself until he gets let out."

Luke shook his head. "I'm offering you my services, in exchange for yours," he said. "It's been a very long time since I've fucked anyone." He looked Spike over. "And you'll do."

Then he lunged.


	10. Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things do not go well for Spike.

Later, Spike would distinctly remember the cold press of the locker doors against his back. The rest of the moment was a blur - his memory swam as he struggled to repress it.

Luke shoved Spike up against the lockers and yanked away his towel. "You'll do just fine," he said, licking the blond's neck and grabbing his ass roughly. "Turn around, pretty boy." He spun Spike to face away from him, pressing the side of his face into the locker doors and kicking his legs apart.

Spike was too shocked to fight back as Luke handled him roughly. "Let me go," he half-whimpered.

"I don't think so," Luke replied. He shoved two rough, dry fingers inside Spike. "Oh, yeah, you're so tight."

Spike reared back suddenly, catching Luke's nose with the back of his head. "Let go of me!" he shouted, struggling in earnest. He managed to dislodge his attacker's hand, and then jabbed backwards with his elbows.

In the showers, Xander noticed the commotion in the changing area and dropped his washcloth. "Shit," he muttered. "We've got to help him. Andrew!"

Without thinking, Andrew sprinted out of the showers, Xander close at his heels. He tackled Luke around the midsection with a shout. The big man went down hard, his head hitting the wooden bench in the middle of the changing room.

Xander, after punching Luke once in the temple and wrapping a towel around his waist, ran for help.

"Are you alright?" Andrew asked Spike, glancing over at Luke, who was still trying to get up after the blow to his head. He patted Spike's arm.

"I'm fine," Spike grunted. He picked up his towel and wrapped it around his waist, looking at his fallen assailant warily.

"Good," Andrew said. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward in a dead faint.

Spike barely managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

 

Staring straight ahead in the dim light of the solitary cell, Angel drew pictures in his mind.

 

"Jesus Christ, why's there always a commotion in the showers?" Officer Finn asked as three guards loaded Luke, who was still unconscious, onto a gurney, strapped him down, and wheeled him away. "Anyone want to tell me what happened here?"

The remaining inmates studiously avoided looking at the guard. Spike suddenly found something under his right index fingernail very interesting.

"Anyone?" Riley repeated. "There isn't any more room in solitary on this block."

"Luke attacked him."

Five heads turned in the direction of the voice so quickly that three of the men found themselves rubbing their sore necks afterward.

The blond guard blinked a few times. "Care to repeat that?"

"Luke attacked him," Scott said, his voice rough with disuse. "Spike was done with his shower, so he went to get a towel and get changed, and Luke was by the lockers, waiting for him. He pinned him, and he would've raped him, if Andrew and Xander hadn't hit him."

"Is that the truth, Prescott?"

Spike, still picking at his fingernail, nodded minutely. "Yeah," he said. "That's what happened."

"Did you provoke him?"

"No," Spike said. He tied his towel more firmly and crossed his arms over his chest, his entire body tense. He met the guard's gaze. "I walked out of the shower, got a towel, started dryin' off, an' suddenly found m'self up against the lockers, face first." He touched a finger to a reddened area on his cheek that would likely bruise before it faded.

"Thank you," Officer Finn said, and Spike raised an eyebrow. "I've never liked Luke's attitude, and this is just the thing that'll get him off my block. You boys can go back to your cells now."

Spike slumped against the lockers, curling in on himself a little and scrubbing his hands through his wet hair. "Bloody 'ell," he muttered. Then he looked over at Scott. "Since when do you speak?"

Scott shrugged. "It wasn't like anyone else was going to." He offered a little smile and returned to the showers.

The blond man blinked and got dressed.

 

On the third day in solitary, a guard slid Angel's food into the cell. There was a bit of charcoal and a pad of paper on the tray, next to his meatloaf and gravy.

Angel had never felt more relieved.

 

Spike stared at the cover of Angel's sketchbook for a long time, turning it over in his hands. He almost didn't dare to open it in plain sight of the other inmates.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then moved so his back was to the front of the cell. His fingers trembled a little as he pulled back the cover of the book, looking at the first page for a long time.

 

_Property of Liam A. Killarney_

  
Spike's fingers hovered over Angel's name, tracing it in the air just millimeters above the text. He sniffed, then wiped at his eyes, irritated with himself. "Pull yourself together, ponce," he ordered himself. "It gets out that you're crying over a sketchbook and you can consider yourself a dead man."

He turned the page, and then the next. Flipped through drawing after drawing, until he found one he recognized.

_"Hold still, ye're gonna lose the pose," Angel said, frowning at Spike. He smoothed a shaded area with the pad of his index finger. "Come on, mo rún, I'm almost done."_

_"Can't help it," Spike replied petulantly. "My leg's crampin' up." He shifted against the wall, trying not to move too much while he shook out his leg. His arms were stretched over his head, his shirt riding up his belly until the bottom half of his navel was visible._

_"Turn yer head back where it was," the dark-haired man said._

_Spike sighed and turned to the front of the cell again. "You sure you're almost done?" He twisted his wrist, cracking it, then put his hand back in its former position._

_"Positive," Angel said. He added a few light strokes of the charcoal to the paper, then smudged the edges of the form lightly. Then he picked up the book and scrutinized the page, glancing up at Spike and then back at the drawing. "Finished."_

_"Ah, finally," Spike said, lowering his arms and shaking them out. He took a flying leap onto the bed and lay there face down. "The things I do for you... my leg's all cramped up," he pouted into the blanket, his words muffled._

_Angel set the book aside and moved over, taking Spike's calf between his fingers and pressing deep into the muscle. "Poor thing," he teased. "All tortured because I made ye stand still for a half-hour."_

_The blond lifted his head. "Less talk, more rub." He pointed at his leg and dropped his forehead back onto the bed._

Spike ran his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh, then picked up a fresh piece of paper and a drawing pencil.

 

~~There's nothing I can say that~~  
I wish I could change what I've done but  
I'm sorry that  
Forgive me.

  
He gathered some things from his shelf, then walked out of the cell, to the showers.

The paper fluttered to the bed, landing on a pillow.

 

Angel emerged from the hole with a full beard. He didn't dare touch his hair for fear that his hand would get caught in the oily tangles. He badly needed some deodorant and a shower, not necessarily in that order, and maybe some food after that.

He entered the cell, heading straight for the sink and his razor. He needed new shaving cream, he noticed as he squirted the last bit into his palm and lathered up his face. He leaned over the sink as his facial hair dropped into the basin with each swipe of the straight razor.

Feeling his face to make sure he hadn't missed a spot, Angel splashed water on his cheeks, then patted his skin dry with a towel. He picked up his washcloth and soap, noting that Spike's weren't there. He closed his eyes and smiled for a minute.

He met up with Xander, his hair wet from the shower, on his way in. "Angel, man, nice to see you're still alive after a week in the hole."

Angel nodded. "Harris," he grunted.

"Listen, man, I thought you should know before you see it for yourself - Spike's got something going on with Andrew." Xander leaned against the wall next to the door. "Sorry, buddy."

The Irishman shrugged, not really believing the other man. "Thanks for the news," he said.

"No problem, man." Xander clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering a little too long. He looked into Angel's eyes. "Anytime," he said carefully, making sure Angel caught the innuendo.

When Xander walked off, Angel rolled his eyes, and continued into the changing area.

"Angel!" Jenna exclaimed, rushing toward him, fully clothed and freshly showered, her eyes a little wild. "It's great to see you in one piece!" She hugged him tightly.

Angel blinked a few times, his body stiff, before patting Jenna on the back. "Nice to see you, too?"

"So, how was solitary?" she asked, leading him further into the changing area, instead of toward the showers. She caught Scott's eye as he walked past, motioning for him to go back into the shower room. "I've never been, myself. I hear it's... dark."

"Um... yeah," Angel replied. He started to strip. "Look, Jenna, I've been locked in a cell for a week without being able to shower. You mind letting me clean up before you interview me?"

"But - ah - I - you, I mean... I'll make it worth your while..." She lowered her voice, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" the Irishman asked.

Jenna blinked. "What the fuck do you mean, what the fuck am I talking about?" she asked. "I'm talking about - uh... this!" She lifted her shirt, flashing him. "You know you want a piece of this."

Angel dropped his pants, stepping out of them, and walked around her to the shower room, soap in hand. "Maybe some other time," he called over his shoulder. "That was the single most disturbing thing I've _ever_ seen," he muttered under his breath.

A low groan assaulted his ears as he stepped into the steam-filled shower room. He could recognize it anywhere.

Spike.

With a slow smile creeping across his face, Angel turned on one of the showerheads and got scrubbing. He had nearly cleaned off all of the week's worth of grime when he heard the groan again, to his left.

He turned his head as he lathered up his hair, seeing Spike leaning against the wall, with his eyes closed and his mouth open. His gut clenched a little bit when he realized that there was someone kneeling in front of him, their hands on his upper thighs as they sucked him off. Spike's hand was in their hair, urging them on.

Shit.

Angel turned away and rinsed his hair, then made his way out of the showers, grabbing a towel and not bothering to re-dress. He gathered his clothes under one arm, tied off the towel around his waist, and walked back to the cell, flopping down on the bed.

Paper crinkled underneath him.

He sat up and picked up the sheet of paper, smiling as he read Spike's nearly illegible scrawl. He set the paper aside and lay down again, one hand on his stomach, humming a tuneless melody.

 

When the cell door opened and Spike stepped in, Angel turned to him with a smile. "Was 'e any good?" he asked.

Spike swallowed. "You saw...?" he asked.

Angel nodded.

"I'm sorry," the blond said as he placed his washcloth and soap back on the shelf. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ye're an alpha male now," Angel said, looking him over. "When'd this happen?"

"Two... maybe three days in?" Spike offered. "It's just - you weren't here, and - "

"Did ye fuck him?"

"Yes," Spike whispered, looking away.

"I see." Angel sat up again, scrubbing his hands through his damp hair. He got up and moved to his foot locker, getting out his deodorant. "Considerin' yer new status on the block, ye can go if ye'd like." He knelt in front of the locker, replacing his deodorant, and running his fingers over the cover of his sketchbook.

"I - " Spike swallowed. "I'd rather not."

Angel nodded and closed the foot locker, then moved to sit on the bed again. "Were ye safe?"

Spike closed his eyes and nodded, then heaved a shuddering sigh. "Luke tried to rape me in the showers, the night they put you in the hole."

"What?!" Angel leapt to his feet and started pacing the length of the cell. "He didn't - did he - I mean..."

"He didn't get a chance to. The others - they fought him off." Spike pressed back against the wall, watching Angel pace like a caged predator. He flinched when Angel slammed his hands against the bars of the cell.

"I'll kill him," he growled.

"They moved him. Angel - " The breath whooshed out of Spike's lungs as the Irishman gathered him in a tight embrace, burying his face in his neck.

"It's my fault," Angel said against Spike's neck. "If I hadn't fought with Adam, none of this would've happened."

"Angel - urp - " Spike struggled out of Angel's arms, taking a few deep breaths. "Suffocation? Not one of my favorite past-times."

"Gods, I'm so stupid," Angel muttered.

"Would you shut _up_ for a minute?" Spike snapped. "Christ. You _know_ Luke was gunning for me the minute I walked into this place. It would've happened eventually, anyway." He placed a hand on Angel's shoulder. "Besides, I'm glad it happened when it did. If you'd attacked him - who knows what would've happened to you."

"Who knows," Angel echoed. "Doesn't make me want to strangle him any less."

"Now," the blond said, pushing Angel backwards. "Lie down. I think we could both use a nap." He took off his shoes as Angel lay on the bed, then folded his pants and took off his shirt. He lay down on the other side, in his undershirt and boxers, and pulled Angel over to him, petting his hair. "I'm glad you're back," he murmured as Angel pulled the blankets over both of them.

Angel nodded against Spike's chest. "So am I."

 

Spike awoke to tiny kisses being placed randomly all over his face. He hummed softly and leaned into the caress of a warm palm against his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, and Angel pulled away. "That feels nice. Don't need to stop, just 'cause I'm awake," he mumbled with a soft yawn. "What time is it?"

"A little after four in the afternoon," Angel replied. He leaned in and pressed a feathery kiss over each of Spike's eyelids. "Missed this," he said with a tiny lick across the blond's upper lip, wiggling his tongue slightly over the fullness of his mouth.

The smaller man closed his eyes completely again, stretching and arching against Angel. His thigh brushed against Angel's hard cock. "Mmmnnhappy to see me?" he asked with a sleepy smile.

Angel nodded against Spike's cheek, then released his face and slid his hand down his undershirt-clad chest, pushing the bottom of the shirt up and following the ridges of his abs with his thumb. "Don't suppose you'd want to fool around?" he asked, flashing a winning smile.

Spike pushed Angel onto his back and covered his smile with his own. They kissed lazily, with slow glides of tongue and soft caresses of lips, hands roaming over each other's faces. He murmured against Angel's mouth, then pulled back, kissing slowly down his chest.

Angel arched up with a groan, looking down at the top of Spike's blond head as he rolled his tongue ring over one of Angel's nipples. "You taste just like I remembered," Spike said with a grin. Then he winked at Angel and slid under the blankets, his entire body disappearing from view.

The Irishman's legs parted, his knees rising as Spike settled between them. He reached under the blankets, finding Spike's bicep blindly and running his hand up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his neck, to twine his fingers in the smaller man's hair. His body bowed off the bed at the first flicker of tongue on his cock.

"It's been too long, _mo rún_ ," Angel panted. "I need to be inside you."

Spike gave Angel's cockhead a lazy suck, then crawled back up his body. "You do, do you?" he asked, cocking his head and grinning.

Angel nodded mutely, tugging up on Spike's undershirt.

The blond got up and pulled of his shirt, tossing it to Angel. It landed on the Irishman's face, and he watched as Angel inhaled deeply, pressing the fabric to his face. "Smells like you," Angel said.

Spike smiled and got a condom and a tube of lubricant from his shelf. He dropped his boxers on the way back to the bed, then slid under the covers. "It's cold out there," he whispered. "Warm me up?"

Angel laughed and pounced on Spike, wrapping his arms around the blond and flipping them so he lay sprawled underneath the smaller man. He drew Spike down for another long kiss as his hands smoothed down his sides and over his thighs. One of his hands fumbled for the lube by his side, and he popped open the tube as he rubbed the small of Spike's back, then slid his middle finger into the crevice between his cheeks.

Spike trembled and gripped Angel's shoulders.

The dark-haired man wet his middle finger with the lubricant and slid it down Spike's ass crack. He rubbed the flesh just above his hole, then skated the tip of his finger over the tight-puckered ring of muscle.

Spike tensed, jerking away. "Stop," he gasped, panting.

"What's wrong?" Angel asked, his lustful expression giving way to one of concern. "Did I hurt you?" He pulled his hand away from Spike's ass, cupping the blond's cheek with his other palm. "What is it, _mo rún_?"

Shuddering slightly and closing his eyes, Spike whispered, "He put his fingers inside me."

_"Let me go," he half-whimpered._

_"I don't think so," Luke replied. He shoved two rough, dry fingers inside Spike. "Oh, yeah, you're so tight."_

"He put his fingers inside me, and he was going to fuck me, and... I fought. I couldn't let him - " he broke off on another gasp, wrapping his arms around himself.

Angel's hand remained gentle on Spike's face while he fought every protective instinct inside him. "I wish I could've been there to protect ye," he said quietly. "Lie down. We don't need to do this."

"What?" Spike asked. "No." He touched Angel's chest softly. "No. Help me forget." He brought Angel's hand back to his ass, guiding it, because if he guided the Irishman's fingers he'd be alright. "Help me forget, Angel."

"Ye're sure?" Angel asked, even as his middle finger sank inside Spike's hot, sweet depths to the second knuckle.

"Make me feel good," Spike breathed. He sat up, holding Angel's wrist, raising and lowering his hips just slightly, in a slow rhythm. Then he lifted up off Angel's finger, pulling it away from his body and adding more lube.

Angel watched Spike, trembling and nervous as he rode his fingers. "Beautiful," he murmured. His free hand smoothed over Spike's belly, then palmed the blond's cock.

Spike found the condom, buried in the sheets, and tore open the package, pulling out the slippery disc and placing it on the tip of Angel's throbbing cock. _I can do this,_ he thought to himself as he rolled the condom down and slathered it liberally in lube. "I can do this," he said aloud as he got off Angel's fingers, moving so that his hole hovered over Angel's dick. "I can do this."

The Irishman never took his eyes off him.

Spike lowered himself slowly, carefully, flinching only once as the head of Angel's cock pinched through his hole. "I can do this," he said again, inhaling deeply. His thighs twitched as he raised and lowered himself, each time taking a bit more of Angel's shaft inside him. When at last he was fully encasing Angel's cock, he lowered his forehead to the dark-haired man's. "Make me forget," he pleaded.

Angel tilted his chin up, kissing Spike softly. "We can stop if it's too much for ye, alright?" he asked.

Spike nodded. "I need this," he replied. He raised his hips carefully, bracing a hand on either side of Angel for support. He smiled when the other man moaned low in his throat. Down again, a little faster this time, a little more sure of himself, and up - hovering with just the head of Angel's cock inside him. Back down, adding a little twist of his hips and - oh yeah, fuck, he'd missed this. "Angel," he gasped.

"Right here, _mo rún_ ," Angel said, sliding his hands up and down Spike's thighs. He reached out blindly and grabbed the lube, slicking his palm and wrapping his slippery hand around Spike's cock. His legs bent at the knee as Spike fell back, holding him steady.

For a long moment, they were quiet, listening to each other breathe and moan, hearing the slick sounds of their bodies churning together. To Angel, there was nothing in the world at that moment except the tight slick burn of Spike's grasping ass. Nothing in the world except the slap of skin on skin and the smooth heat of Spike's pulsing cock in his hand.

To Spike, at that moment, everything in the world was his. He rode Angel's cock like a man possessed, his face screwed into a look of pure pleasure as his hands scrabbled at Angel's chest and belly, trying to get purchase. The hair on Angel's thighs was rough against his sweaty back, and Angel's hand was tight around his cock. His body was split in two by Angel's dick, and only Angel's touch kept him from shattering completely.

Spike fell forward and pressed his face to Angel's, kissing him deeply. He arched up into a seated position again. "Say it," he begged. "Talk to me please, Angel..."

Angel's voice trembled only a little bit as he slid his thumb over Spike's full lower lip and said, " _Mo tháitnéamh thu, mo mhúrnín bán_ ," watching as a look of wonderment passed over the blond's countenance before he fell apart. There were tears in his eyes and he wondered if he'd ever be able to draw something so beautiful. Spike came in his hands and fell forward onto him, and one last kiss drove him over the edge.

" _Tá grá agam duit_ ," he gasped.


	11. Seven Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to not go well for Spike.

The first thing that happened was that someone got food poisoning after breakfast. The sounds of the inmate's illness were violent and loud in the otherwise fairly quiet cellblock, and his pitiful moans as he clutched his stomach and prayed for it to be over soon caused other men to become nauseous. After that, the collective mood of the block soured a bit.<

 

The second thing that happened was that for some reason Officer Finn was replaced with a new guard, who was still wet behind the ears and flinched whenever he heard a _shoutmoanwhimpercry_ from one of the cells. His voice shook a little when he offered empty threats to the inmates who called out to him with whistles and catcalls.

"So it's not just me, then," Spike commented, and wrinkled his nose, not moving. "I've got an - " Angel's left hand snaked out and he scratched between Spike's eyebrows. "Thanks."

"No, ye're not the only one they do this to," Angel agreed. "They do this to every pretty boy that comes into th' block, inmate or guard. I'm hopin' they'll stop before he's had enough an' starts wavin' his gun about like a lunatic."

"Speaking from experience?" Spike asked.

"Couple years ago there was a new guard, brought in fresh from whatever academy that trained him. Almost shot one of his hecklers where he stood. Finn wrestled him to the ground. He got transferred to Death Row; they're a little quieter there." Angel's pencil paused over his paper. "Look at me an' think of something nice from yer childhood."

Spike did as he was asked, his expression softening as he remembered Mr. Boo, his teddy bear, and dragging Mr. Boo everywhere he went. Five minutes later he was jolted out of his musings, his breath whooshing out of his lungs all at once as Angel tackled him, wedged a knee between his, and kissed him until he saw stars.

 

The third thing that happened was that Forrest got a little too enthusiastic with his curvaceous cellmate, and Jenna was taken to the infirmary nursing finger-shaped bruises about her neck and a sprained wrist.

Spike watched her go by, led by a guard, and rubbed his own throat in sympathy. Angel helped, brushing Spike's hands aside and placing little kisses on his neck and shoulders until he calmed down. He murmured softly in Gaelic, wrapping each endearment in a tiny flutter of lips against skin.

"What are you always saying to me?" Spike asked. "In Gaelic, I mean."

" _Tá grá agam duit_ ," Angel said very quietly, " _mo mhúirnín bán_ , William." He rested his mouth on Spike's shoulder and hugged him, then drew slightly away.

"I meant in English. What does it mean?"

Angel shook his head. "You'll figure it out, _mo rún_." Then he picked up the paper and started to read.

 

The fourth thing that happened was -

"Fuck!"

Angel looked up from the _New York Times_ and focused patiently on Spike, who was currently hopping up and down rather amusingly and staring into the toilet. "Not now, honey, I'm busy," he said.

"If I wasn't so disgusted by this, I'd punch you," Spike replied, and glared at the toilet some more. "My toothbrush fell in."

Angel started to laugh.

"It's not funny, pillock! Do you know what kind of germs live in toilets?" The blond went back to hopping angrily.

"Spike," Angel said, and put down his newspaper. "Spike. _Spike._ "

Spike pouted at him.

"Ye've put yer tongue in my arse, yes?"

Nod.

The dark-haired man stood up. "An' ye've licked fairly much every other part of my body, yes?"

Double nod.

"An' we bleached the toilet this mornin', and haven't used it since."

Sullen grumble.

"So really, dumplin', I'm not sure how you can be worried about germs."

Glare. "Fine, then _you_ fish it out."

"Spike..."

"Or maybe I'll take _your_ toothbrush," Spike said, plucking the item in question from the shelf, "and shove it - "

Angel got up and pulled a spare toothbrush out of his footlocker, snatched his away from Spike, placed them both on the shelf, and flushed the toilet.

Spike looked at the shelf. "It's _pink!_ " he sniffed disdainfully.

"Mm," Angel said. "I know. Matches my favorite accessory on ye."

"Why am I always the one who has to accessorize?" Spike asked. "We're equals in this thing now, right? I vote that the pink, sparkly sex toy from Hell gets firmly lodged up your arse for a day or two. See how you like it."

"Let's not be hasty now," Angel said warily. He put away his paper, knowing it was about to get crumpled if it wasn't off the bed. He fell back with a muffled "Oomph!" a moment later. Spike straddled his thighs and pinned his wrists to the bed, and Angel let him, knowing that Spike wasn't as strong as him and he could easily get out of this. Not that he wanted to.

"Or you could just let me top," Spike added with a chipper grin that grazed along Angel's jaw and snapped at his earlobe. "For a week."

"Spike..."

"Buttplug," Spike sing-songed. He wedged first one, then both knees between Angel's thighs, and proceeded to wiggle in between his legs until he could wrap them around his waist. "Come on, get with the naked."

"I can't," Angel said.

Spike blinked a few times. "Why not?" he finally demanded indignantly.

"Because me legs're wrapped about yer waist, boyo." Angel laughed at Spike's scowl. "Don't give me that look. Ye're the one who put 'em there."

The bleached blond harrumphed, then disentangled himself from Angel's limbs, stood up, and dropped his pants. "Your turn," he said as he tossed his shirt into a corner of the cell.

Angel rolled his eyes and shimmied out of his clothes just in time for Spike to leap on top of him. They grappled for a moment, laughing and groping each other before Spike managed to wedge one of his legs between Angel's. Angel took the opportunity to flip them both until Spike lay sprawled beneath him with legs akimbo and his wrists pinned to the mattress on either side of his head.

"So ye want to be inside me?" Angel asked. He lowered his head and licked a wet swath over Spike's jaw. He followed the path of his tongue with bites along the damp and Spike felt him smile against his cheek. "Best earn it, then."

"Don't you think it's odd, somehow, that you only use your brogue around me?" Spike asked.

Angel furrowed his brow and Spike shoved him onto his back with a barking laugh that echoed around the cellblock like a gunshot. "I use it because I... I'm comfortable around ye. Sounds very trite an' clichéd, but..." he trailed off and cleared his throat.

"You're comfortable around the other blokes, too, but I don't hear you spouting limericks and calling them laddie, laddie." A sure hand slid swiftly down Angel's front and curled around his stiffening prick. "Why me?"

"I'll tell ye when ye're older," Angel replied, "if ye haven't figured it out by now."

Spike grinned widely. "You _love_ me," he cooed. "You want to march down to San Francisco as soon as we're both out of here and _marry_ mmph - "

Angel shut him up with a quick, hard kiss, managing to flip them again so he straddled the smaller man's hips. He gave Spike an intense look, then attacked his neck, leaving pink bite-marks every few inches.

Spike was content to whimper and squirm underneath Angel for a few long, exquisite moments, before he remembered that he was supposed to be working to top the other man, and forced himself to snap out of his lust-driven haze. He gripped Angel's shoulders hard enough to leave fingerprints in his upper back, but Angel barely noticed, so intent was he on tasting every square inch of Spike's throat. Sometimes Spike wondered about his cellmate's vampiric tendencies.

The dark-haired man was licking and sucking on Spike's collarbone when he once again found himself on his back. His eyes rolled back and his neck arched as a warm hand slid over his balls and sure fingers pressed against his perineum, and a moist breath rippled over his ear and cheekbone.

"Stay put," Spike whispered along the curve of Angel's cheek. "I'm gonna suck you until you scream." The ball of his tongue ring flicked over Angel's earlobe and he smiled when Angel shuddered.

Spike extended his tongue and curled it so the piercing dragged across Angel's skin as he slowly pulled himself down the bed. He gave into temptation only twice, once to lazily lap at a nipple and the other time to flick his tongue into Angel's navel and over his twitching belly.

Then Angel knew nothing but the heat of Spike's mouth, the swirling of his tongue, the suction of his lips, winding up and down and all over his throbbingdemanding cock. And he did scream, but only a little, and only when Spike stopped sucking and moved down to nuzzle his heavy sac. And he didn't care at that moment that Spike had reduced him to a belligerent, rutting beast, or that he was probably going to bruise the heel of his hand if he bit down any harder to smother his cries in his own sweat-slicked flesh.

Angel hated and loved the loss of control that tore through him when Spike had him like this. He craved and despised it. Pleasure was his assailant, and he was its helpless and willing victim. He was reborn as a wanton, mewling wretch, and he wanted a reprieve from the tempest; wanted more.

Spike wanted to create this masterpiece of pleasurepain in Angel as often as possible.

Spike's hands were sure as they traversed Angel's flesh, over belly and thighs, nipples and buttocks. His hips shimmied against Angel's, then thrust, then pressed hard as his whole body gyrated. He wanted nothing more than to crawl deep inside Angel; to wear his skin as his own and feel nothing but what Angel could give him; what he could give to Angel. In a startling moment of clarity, he realized that he wanted everything and nothing. He coveted all that Angel possessed.

When at last he pushed himself into pulsing heat, it was with a breath of a name upon his lips. The blue of his eyes had melted into black and his nostrils flared as he drew his hips back, then twisted forward again.

Angel was panting; scrabbling at the sheets with hands gone numb from sensory overload. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling and his mouth was slack, his tongue licking at his swollen lower lip. A single word was his mantra, over and over, whispering with a voice gone hoarse, though not with screaming. "Please please please please please..."

"Yes," was Spike's hissed response, drawing it out until the one syllable out until it was long and thin.

It was all Angel needed; a small, choked noise burst forth from betwixt his lips and he convulsed, then was silent but for shuddering gulps of air. And Spike could do nothing but follow.

 

The fifth thing that happened was that the inmates were released onto the prison yard for a bit of afternoon fresh air, and someone got shoved. He fell into someone else, who shoved him back. What appeared to be the culmination of a kindergarten playground rivalry, however, soon escalated into a full-scale brawl, sweeping every inmate up in its path.

The new guard got a look of wild-eyed fear in his eyes and fired skyward, trying to break the fighting up with the sound of gunshots. It didn't do any good, and he wished that they'd left him on traffic duty. Then he cowered behind the more experienced guards, who knew better than to get involved and were determined to let the prisoners work out their aggressions on each other.

Still, they opened the doors up to let the inmates go back inside once they'd had enough.

Looking out on the wild, mob-like mass of inmates, it was really no wonder that the new guard had gotten so nervous. Punches were being thrown at everyone who got in anyone else's way. He watched with wide eyes as two guards thrust themselves into the melee and threw an inmate off another, dragging the man on the ground to his feet and into the cellblock, away from his assailant. His fingers strayed to his gun nervously.

A lot of the punks tried to stay on the sidelines, but Spike was right in the thick of it, hitting people left and right with a maniacal grin on his face. Xander got in a couple of good hits on Spike, eyeing Angel the whole time, and Angel, before Spike could retaliate, swung his fist.

 

The sixth thing that happened was that Spike turned to Angel and stumbled into the path of his punch.

Time stopped.

Everything rushed back in at once with a muffled roar like the sound of a conch shell, and Angel's fist connected with the side of Spike's face, snapping Spike's head to the side with the force of the blow. Spike blinked twice, slowly turning to look at Angel, and brought a hand to the fresh tender spot on his cheekbone, his eyes wide and his mouth slack.

Angel reached for Spike, his own eyes wider than the blond's, shock and regret battling on his countenance.

Spike turned away.

A moment later, Spike doubled over with a silent scream and fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around himself and collapsed. A smuggled knife, dripping crimson, fell to the ground and kicked up a puff of dust when it landed a millisecond before Spike's upper body did.

"Shit," Angel muttered, and dropped to the ground next to Spike. "Oh, _shit._ " He turned Spike over, eyes widening as he saw a large, messy gash across his abdomen. He pressed his hands against the wound, biting his lip in concentration that was shattered when Spike moaned softly and his body convulsed for a moment. "He needs help!" Angel shouted, and looked up to see Andrew skidding to a stop in front of them on his knees.

"What happened?" the smaller blond man asked.

Angel pulled his hand away from the laceration and Andrew winced. "He got cut. There was... there was a knife, and I didn't see it in time..."

Andrew saw the wild, frightened look in Angel's eyes and laid a hand on his forearm. "Calm down. You need to carry him; I'll make sure there's pressure on the wound."

"What the hell are you, a doctor?" Angel asked, then blinked and nodded slowly with a quiet, "Oh," at Andrew's raised eyebrow.

"Pick him up," Andrew said. Angel lifted Spike carefully and Andrew immediately pressed down on the gash in his abdomen, his hands getting slippery, fast. "Get out of the way!" he shouted above the din as they made their way to the doors. Surprisingly, almost everyone moved for them.

The new guard saw them approaching. He was going to ask for his old job back first thing in the morning. The pay was good but this was fucking _ridiculous_.

Another guard stepped forward to help carry Spike. They brought him straight to the infirmary.

"You need to wash your hands," Andrew said to Angel, who was staring at the blood on his palms with an almost glazed expression as the doctor scrubbed in. The blond man turned to the doctor. "Dr. Osbourne," he said, "I'm - I mean, I _was_ a doctor. I'm getting reinstated when they let me out." He glanced over at Spike. "I can assist." Andrew returned his attention to the red-haired man standing before him. "I examined the wound - it's shallow enough that it didn't damage any organs, but deep enough so it may need internal sutures."

The doctor looked Andrew over appraisingly. "Scrub in," he said finally. "And get your friend over there to wash his hands. He dripped on my floor." Then he put on a pair of surgical gloves and approached the table.

 

The seventh thing that happened was that Spike woke up in a more comfortable bed than he'd slept in for several months. His eyes opened slowly, but he found that he was so weary that he couldn't lift his eyelids more than halfway. He saw the IV needle protruding from the back of his hand and immediately felt faint.

"Welcome back, Spike. You gave a few people quite a scare." Dr. Osbourne walked briskly into his curtained-off cubicle and pulled down the sheet, then lifted up his johnny and peered at a large bandage covering most of his lower abdomen.

"What happened?" he asked, and swallowed when he noticed he sounded like he'd been dehydrated for a few months.

"Yard brawl," the doctor said, checking Spike's vitals. "You got sliced open by someone's knife. We patched you up."

Spike swallowed again. "We?"

"Mr. Wells and I. Seems your friend here is a non-practicing physician."

The bleached blond closed his eyes for a moment. "Andrew?" he asked slowly. "Is a doctor?"

"Trauma specialist, actually," Andrew offered. "How are his vitals?"

"Stable and healthy," Dr. Osbourne replied. "You should probably be getting back to your cell now."

Andrew nodded. "Um... you know where to find me if you need me to assist again." He turned to leave.

"Wait," Spike said.

Andrew stopped in the doorway and faced the man on the bed.

"Thanks," Spike said.

The blond man by the door gave another, short nod, then walked out.

Spike's vision swam for a moment as a sharp stab of pain sliced across his gut. He heard a throat being cleared somewhere to his left. "How long was I out?"

"Eight hours, give or take," the doctor said. He glanced at the clock. "I'll be right back with another dose of morphine."

A warm hand enveloped Spike's as Dr. Osbourne left the room. "I was so scared," Angel whispered.

Spike closed his eyes and swallowed. His hand remained slack. "You hit me," he said quietly, and turned his head away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **And this is it, folks.** This is where I dropped it. Worst Cliffhanger Ever, you might say. Well never fear, for here are the few plot points I was going to introduce in the last couple chapters, before the _Queer as Folk_ fandom totally stole my "Hard Time" brain away:
> 
> \- Spike realizes he overreacted about the punch to the face. After all, it was a prison yard brawl, and things tend to get out of hand in brawls even when you're not brawling with a bunch of convicts. And in the grand scheme of things, he'd been _shanked_ , so really...
> 
> \- With Drusilla's influence, Angel's victim lobbies for his parole, and surprisingly, Angel gets it. Drusilla is super creepy and stalkery, going so far as to try to _pick him up from the prison_ , but eventually he shakes her and manages to get a job on the night cleaning crew at a local company.
> 
> \- Flash forward a few years, when Spike's a little flabbergasted to find himself plucked out of prison by a government agency that's been monitoring his prison stay and feels he's learned his lesson. His job, fittingly, is weeding out hackers. (Dr. Osbourne is not mentioned.)
> 
> \- Eventually Spike and Angel find one another again and the peasants rejoice, for there is much reunion porn.


End file.
